Smuggler's Lair by Virginia Henley Read Free Book Online Page B

that the Seacock is back. She crossed to the door and listened. Only silence met her ears, but somehow she sensed the moment when Falcon Hawkhurst stole past to his chamber above.
    * * *
    â€œWill you stay abed all day, wench?”
    Tory looked up into bold black eyes. “Ah, the Master of Bodiam has returned. Perhaps I should have fled while I had my chance.”
    He cocked a dark, mocking brow. “And miss my entertainment tonight? Not bloody likely. Wild horses couldn’t drag you away.”
    You look remarkably well rested for a man who was stowing contraband all night. “You’re right, of course. I’m looking forward to tonight’s affair.”
    â€œGood. Chastity is its own punishment,” he teased.
    Her cheeks bloomed rosy. “I didn’t mean—”
    Pandora stalked in, picked up Tory’s slipper, and turned to leave.
    â€œCome back, you sneak thief,” Falcon ordered.
    Tory laughed. “I warrant it runs in the family.”
    He ignored the innuendo and retrieved the slipper. He noted the book on her bedside table. “Reading in bed is far too passive for a lively lady like you. I’ll see what I can do to change your habits.” He winked. “Wear something spectacular tonight.”
    * * *
    Sitting at her dressing table, Victoria turned at the sound of her chamber door opening. Her eyes widened at the satin-clad figure. “I would never have recognized you—your elegance borders on foppery, milord.”
    An attendant followed him into the room, carrying a box and a bag of flour. The young man flourished a muslin cape, and at a nod from Hawkhurst, draped it about Tory’s shoulders.
    â€œClaude is my coiffeur; he’s here to powder your hair.”
    â€œPut flour on my hair? I think not!”
    Falcon’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I didn’t think so. Then it will have to be a wig. You cannot go down naked. Brunettes are decidedly démodé.”
    Tory looked at the wigs that adorned her dressing table. “I’ll wear this one with the curl that falls over the shoulder.”
    Claude brushed her long hair into a topknot and pinned it. Then he dropped the wig into the box, drenched it with flour, gave it a good shake, and fitted it over her dark tresses. He opened a drawer in the table, selected a bejeweled feather ornament, and fastened it into the white curls. “Voilà!”
    â€œClaude can help you with your makeup,” Falcon suggested.
    Tory eyed him critically. “Did he help you with yours? I’ve never seen a man wear powder before. I’ll do my own, thank you.” She touched her eyelids with kohl, rouged her cheeks, and painted her lips. She took a large puff and powdered her face and her breasts. Then she chose a heart-shaped black silk patch and placed it beside her mouth. Victoria threw off the muslin cape and stood up. “What do you think?”
    The amusement left Falcon’s eyes as he stared at the vision before him. Her stays pushed her curves up and out. The bodice of the lavender silk confection did not quite cover her pink nipples. “I think your breasts are exposed.”
    â€œOh, good. I’ve decided to take the girls out for an airing.”
    â€œI think I prefer Mistress Prim and Proper.”
    She picked up a fan and made a moue with her lips. “I’m willing to wager I can change your mind before the night’s over, my lord.”
    â€œI have no doubt of it.” He held out his arm and escorted her down to the entertainment.
    Their arrival caused a stir among the guests and Tory surmised that people always reacted this way to Lord Hawkhurst, no matter who was on his arm. All the candles were lighted and her gaze traveled from the musicians on the dais to the gaming tables already in use by the habitual gamblers.
    â€œAllow me to introduce you to our venerable customs officer, Thomas Carswell.”
    Tory was jolted out of her