The Smuggler's Captive Bride Read Online Free

all you want. No one dares interfere between a man and his wife.” He cupped her chin and leaned down to whisper, “And according to you, little liar, you are my little wife.”
    Dear God. He knew . She could scarcely speak with dismay. “We’re not really married!”
    “You told Ernest we were.” Hamilton straightened. He walked to the door, picked up the bottle of wine and returned to stand in front of her.
    She didn’t know many men. She certainly knew none well, and she didn’t understand them at all. She would have thought Hamilton would be livid about her lie.
    But he didn’t look angry. His expression seemed more … amused. “Imagine my surprise,” he said, “when I arrived at the inn to be informed my bride awaited me upstairs.” He swung his fist.
    She ducked.
    But he merely shoved the papers off the desk. They fluttered down, a flurry of white … and with an ominous, telling thud, Ronald’s diary landed on the floor.

 
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     

     
    HAMILTON PLACED the bottle of wine on the desk.
    Only with the greatest effort of will was Laura able to keep her gaze fixed on Hamilton’s face.
    “You aren’t frightened, are you?” he asked. “Perhaps you are thinking that you’re playing a dangerous game, visiting a wealthy and popular lord on his very own lands and there claiming to be his wife.” Hamilton was making threats. His voice, always deep and mild, had slipped into a husky whisper, and his eyes gleamed like blue coals from the hottest part of the fire. Yet he didn’t seem to notice the precious leather-bound volume, lying with its ruby cover glowing on the otherwise scattered white sheets of paper.
    She could see the diary out of the corner of her eye, and she didn’t know what to do. Her fingers trembled with the desire to pick up it and like a guilty child, hide it behind her back. “Claiming to be your wife made it easy for me to get accommodations far above what I could afford, and in addition, it seemed to be the best way to assure my safety here in a place where I am unknown. For a woman traveling alone, comfort and safety are of primary concern.” She thought she sounded logical, not at all anxious, and boringly prudish.
    He didn’t seem bored. As if he had every right, he reached out and fingered one of the curls that hung beside her ear. “You’re not alone now. You have me.”
    She lost a bit of her temper. “Even if that were true, I would not know what to do with you!”
    “I’ll show you.”
    She bit her lip. The only way she would escape this untenable situation and live to see justice done was to maintain control, to keep quiet. She couldn’t win against Hamilton. Not physically. Not verbally.
    Right now, the most important thing she could do was keep his attention away from the diary. Moving her hands along the desk top behind her, she crept sideways away from the spilled papers.
    A successful tactic, for Hamilton watched her; only her. He watched her as he swept off his black wool greatcoat. He watched her as she stared at his loose, rough clothes, more fitting to a fisherman — or a smuggler — than to a lord. His black cravat was nothing more than a scarf to warm his neck, tied with true carelessness into a twisted knot. His dark shirt laid open to the middle of his chest and drops of water clung to the curls that poked forth. The cotton stuck to his shoulders in wet patches, and steam rose in little wisps as if he were hot to the touch.
    Well. She knew what he was. A wealthy lord unsatisfied with what he had. A spoiled boy seeking adventure. A man who turned to smuggling and murder. And perhaps … a despoiler of women?
    If she wasn’t careful, before this night was over she would know all his sins.
    No. No. She was not going worry about her own safety and virtue when she had a chance to avenge herself on Ronald’s murderer.
    When she’d reached the edge of the desk, he turned and strode to the settle by the fire. Fingering her redingote, he said,