Smuggler's Lair by Virginia Henley Page A

opportunity to indulge. She didn’t dare throw dice; she chose a card game instead. Eventually she lost everything, but she resolutely pushed away the feeling of guilt that seemed bound and determined to have its way with her.
    It must have been around midnight when she saw Mr. Burke at the chamber’s entrance. She saw him nod once at Falcon, then quietly leave. Victoria knew it was a signal. Thoughts chased through her mind as she pondered the things that went on at Bodiam. Though her conclusions seemed far-fetched, she felt as if some sixth sense revealed the castle’s secrets to her. It wasn’t long after that the party broke up and the guests began to depart.
    She stood beside Lord Hawkhurst at Bodiam’s front entrance, as they watched the drivers bring the carriages from the grass quadrangle to pick up their noble masters.
    When the last coach went beneath the portcullis, Falcon took Tory’s hand. “Are you ready to collect your wager?”

C HAPTER 5
    Victoria’s provocative words from earlier in the evening flew back to her and suddenly she felt shy.
    Falcon toyed with the curl on her bare shoulder. “I cannot wait to rid you of such artifice. You have a natural beauty transcending that of any lady of my acquaintance.”
    â€œBrunettes are démodé, my lord.”
    â€œI have superlative taste.”
    â€œYour red high heels attest to it.”
    Falcon’s mouth twitched. Tory used humor as a shield when she felt vulnerable. He drew her arm through his and led her through the castle to the foot of the round tower. He bent his head and murmured, “I think I’ll tan your arse for that remark, wench. I’ll give you five second’s head start.”
    Tory whooped and was off in a flash, her shyness forgotten. Falcon soon caught up, but he stayed one step behind. He slipped a bold hand beneath her petticoat. His questing fingers slid up her leg and stole a garter. She felt her stocking slide to her ankle. This only made her run faster. She did not stop at her chamber, but ran up to his and burst through the door, laughing with triumph.
    He bowed in defeat. “You win! I concede I am a figure of fun.”
    â€œHa! I have you beat hands down. Take a look at this—I’m wearing a bloody birdcage!” Tory hoisted up her skirt and petticoat to reveal the short hooped pannier made of reed, which did indeed cage her hips. She had forgotten, however, that she was not wearing drawers and that one stocking pooled about her ankle.
    Falcon shook his head gravely. “It’s enough to frighten the pigeons from Bodiam’s eaves.”
    â€œCheeky devil!” She kicked her foot and the slipper and stocking flew off. She turned and ran, intending to put the bed between them. She didn’t make it. He caught her and tumbled her to the bed. Her wig came off and her dark hair spilled over her bare shoulders as they rolled together, laughing like children.
    â€œLet me relieve you of your misery.” Falcon removed her gown and petticoat, unfastened the hooped panniers and then her stays. “I’ll let you keep on the stocking and garter to preserve your modesty.” As he gazed down at her, the amusement left his eyes and was replaced by a look of tender possessiveness.
    â€œBut how will you preserve yours?”
    â€œI have no modesty.”
    â€œGood. I shall enjoy watching you undress.” She gathered up her strewn-about clothes and put them on a chair, then she sat down cross-legged on the bed.
    Falcon removed his wig, washed the powder from his face, and combed his fingers through his long, black hair. He took off his satin brocade jacket and vest, then stripped off his silk shirt. He kicked off his shoes, removed his white stockings, and divested himself of the satin knee breeches. “We are slaves to fashion. I take little pleasure in looking like an effete popinjay.”
    â€œEnjoy it while you can. A hundred