Free The Smuggler Wore Silk by Alyssa Alexander Page B

breath, accepted his arm. They moved away, and Julian heard Cannon and Paget blustering and bristling behind them.
    “You don’t have to dance with me. I won’t mind.” Miss Hannah stared straight ahead. “I’ve probably forgotten the steps in any case.” Her cheeks flushed.
    “I
will
mind,” he bit out. Then he realized he was all but dragging her onto the dance floor. Keep it easy, he instructed himself. Flirtation. He waited a beat. “At any rate, if I’m going to compete with Jack Blackbourn, I need to begin consorting with fast women. What kind of smuggler would I be if I consorted with virtuous spinsters?”
    She abruptly stopped walking and stared at him. Then she laughed, long and merrily. The delighted sound filled him with a rush of pure lust. The sort that grabbed a man by the throat and refused to let go.
    “My lord, you may just compete with our Jack after all.” She glanced at the dancers as they began to line up. A smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. “It seems it’s time to begin the dance, my lord smuggler. I only hope your reputation survives consorting with fast women.”
    “If it doesn’t,” he returned as they took their places, “at least this smuggler will keep his lady consort content.” He was rewarded with a faint blush high on her cheekbones.
    Whispers rippled through the surrounding crowd as they took their place on the floor. Was it himself or Miss Hannah that set tongues wagging?
    The lively violins started a country dance. He and Grace came together, separated, came together again. Her eyes, silver-bright, remained fastened on his.
    Woven through the whispers was one clear word:
Gracie.
She must hear it. How could she not? Yet her face stayed blank, her eyes focused on his. It must have cost her dearly to appear so unaware.
    “You haven’t forgotten the steps, fair lady.”
    “It’s said dancing will come back to you quickly,” she murmured.
    “And does it?” Their hands touched, a fleeting brush of glove on glove that resonated through him.
    “If one concentrates.”
    “Alas. I’m clearly not distraction enough if you can concentrate so thoroughly on the steps of the dance. I must try harder.” They separated again, then came together once more at the head of the line.
    “Not wise, my lord. If I stop concentrating I may tread on your toes.”
    “My boots are sturdy.”
    “So are my slippers.”
    He laughed aloud and spun her down the avenue created by the other dancers until they reached the end and took their places once more.
    When the song had ended and the couples dispersed, he smiled at her. “Would you care for a walk on the terrace, Miss Hannah? Or would you prefer I return you to your uncle?”
    She cocked her head, as though listening to the whispers. “The terrace, please.”
    They exited through ornate glass doors and walked the length of the terrace, away from the crowded rooms of the manor house.
    She withdrew her arm when they reached the farthest end and stood at the top of the steps leading down to the gardens. He leaned against the balustrade and took a moment to search the darkness. No sound out of the ordinary. No shadow that didn’t belong.
    Satisfied, he turned to look at her. She, too, stared into the darkness. The quiet and serene Miss Hannah with a core of passion. A smuggler and a rebel.
    “The moonlight suits you, fair lady.” The silver light slanted over her delicate features, turning them into a beautiful study of light and shadow.
    “Oh, moonlight flatters everyone. It’s soft and vague and smooths out rough edges.”
    How could such a lovely face show such loneliness? It was her eyes. They seemed lost. Something stirred in him, answering the call of her loneliness. He pushed it away, trying desperately to remember she was only an assignment.
    “The night is liberating, is it not?” She tipped her face up to the sky.
    “I would have said the night is secretive.”
    “It’s both, I suppose.” Looking out to the