My Lady Smuggler Read Online Free

shoulder, “Looking for herbs.”
    She appeared too young for his interest.  Still, what harm could come of an innocent dalliance.  It was unlikely he’d see her again.  Besides, he might learn something.
    She stopped suddenly and turned to face him.  “ Sir, are you following me?”
    Melvyrn smiled.  By Jove, she was pretty.  Her dainty chin tilted up arrogantly, letting him see her eyes.  Though still large, they no longer dominated her slightly tanned face.  Her cheeks were flushed, whether from embarrassment or exertion he couldn’t tell.  He watched her struggle to hold the squirming spaniel.  “It might be easier if you put the pup down.”
    She gave him a rueful look.  “I cannot.”
    “Oh?” he asked, leaning forward and putting his arm across Hector’s withers. 
    “He chases rabbits.”
    Melvyrn’s sense of the ridiculous got the better of him as he rose up, laughing, and her small chin took on a haughty tilt.  He was again conscious of her erect stance and delicate bone structure and said, “Blood will always tell.”
    When s he whirled around and began walking further into the woods, Melvyrn wondered if he’d insulted her.  He nudged Hector to keep apace with her.  He was buying trouble and he knew it.  “What sort of herbs are you seeking?”
    “ Comfrey,” she said, trudging along.
    “I admit my knowledge of herbs is limited , but isn’t that for wounds?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is someone in your family hurt?”
    She stopped and he guided Hector next to her.  Most people were leery of the stallion’s size, but she appeared unfazed as she looked up at him.  “No, I keep it on hand in case one of the farm workers is injured.” 
    “Which farm is that?”  He tried to keep his tone neutral.
    “I must be getting back before I am missed.”  Her small chin came up and her slate blue eyes held a challenge.  “Please leave me be.”
    Melvyrn studied her.  She never flinched under his scrutiny but met his eyes with a self assurance he found hard to fathom in a young woman alone in a spinney with a complete stranger.  Nor was there any coyness in her demeanor.  Certainly, she was unlike any debutante his sisters had tried to foist upon him.  “Can you tell me where you live?” he asked one last time.
    “We’ve not been introduced, sir,” she countered.  “All this ha s been most improper.”
    So she was a member of his cla ss.  His eyes narrowed as he tried to memorize her features, though he thought he’d have little trouble recalling them.  In particular, he found her full, faintly tinted pink lips fascinating and wondered what her smile would look like.  She appeared so delicate as the squirming Silas pushed up under her breasts, exposing more of them above the yellow bodice.  He saw the blush rise up from the neck of her gown and realized he’d been staring.
    “My apologies, Miss.  I meant no offense.  It is my hope that we will meet again.”  He gave her his best smile, the one he saved for his nieces and nephews.  It did little good.
    “That is unlikely,” she said dryly.  “Now, if you will excuse me . . . .”  Hefting the pup on her hip, she turned on her heel and worked her way through the trees.
    Melvyrn made no further objection but watched as she disappeared into the woods.  Then he turned Hector and headed back to the trail to proceed to Folkestone.
    A short distance from the village, he tied the stallion to a low-hanging branch and made the rest of the trek on foot to the village’s only tavern.  He pulled Bailey’s knit cap low on his forehead and trusted to luck that no one would recognize him.
    A white and blue faded sign hung over the entrance to the Eight Bells Inn, a two-story, gray stone structure. Melvyrn opened the door and quickly located the taproom, which faced the street, off a long, dark hallway.  A short, stout, middle-aged man came through an archway that, from the sounds, led to the kitchen.  Assuming the man to be the