Shirley Kerr (31 page)

He wasn’t smiling, but at least he wasn’t walking away from her in disgust. That had to be a good sign.

“I said a lot in the carriage last night. You’ll have to refresh my memory.”

She smoothed her hands on her skirt, drying her palms. “Much as it pains me to admit it, you were right. I used you. I convinced myself we were both benefiting from the arrangement, but last night I went beyond that. I used you most abominably. I did not respect your wishes or trust your instincts, and relied solely on my own.”

Was he simply allowing her to continue to dig herself deeper into a hole? She plunged onward. “I’ve realized that, had I thought of you as a true partner then, and had I behaved as a partner, we may have been victorious without a casualty. As we were today.”

She studied his expression, trying to read his reaction. All her skills at reading people failed her. His handsome face remained frustratingly impassive.

“I did notice that you didn’t march into the room and try to free Steven and Gauthier by yourself. Remarkable restraint.”

“I was confident you would succeed if I did my part.”

He tilted his head to one side. “So, you’re saying you’ve changed? You’re not the impetuous woman you were last night?”

This was not something she could dip her toe into—she had to plunge in, even if she was over her head. “Changed so much, in fact, that I’m willing to give up being a spy in order to be your wife. If you’ll still have me.”

“Why?”

Why? A million reasons tumbled through her thoughts, both trifling and profound. “Because I don’t want to go another day thinking I’ve lost your respect. Because I want to spend my nights gazing at the stars with you.” She took a deep breath. “Because I love you.”

He continued to study her.

Her heart sank. She hadn’t exactly expected tearful smiles from the viscount, but his non-reaction made her insides twist and shrivel. “Put me out of my misery,” she whispered.

A lock of hair had come loose from her chignon, and he tucked it behind her ear. He slowly trailed his finger down her cheek and along her jaw. “No. That’s not what I want.”

He wanted her miserable? She supposed she owed him that, after the appalling way she’d treated him last night. She found it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat.

He slid his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her closer and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. “I find I’ve had a change of heart.” He kissed her again.

The kissing was killing her. She pushed on his chest when he leaned in for another. “Please clarify.”

“I don’t want you to give up being a spy.”

She realized she still had her hands on his warm, muscular chest, and had slid one down inside his waistcoat. She dropped her hands to her sides. “I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You see, I also want you to be my wife.”

Euphoria was almost within her reach.

“That’s the change of heart part. You’ll be my wife, and we’ll both work for Lord Q. I’m sure he can find us assignments that will suit our complementary skills.” He reached for her hands and held them snugly in his. “I think we’ve both learned something since last night, something very important. I fell in love with a woman who tackles life
head-on, rather then some simpering miss who worries about her wardrobe and social standing.”

Exhilaration swept through her, and flooding warmth made her toes curl. She allowed him to tip her head back, and closed her eyes as he kissed her neck. “And what did I learn?” Oh my, the man knew how to kiss.

“You could have tried to rescue Steven and Gauthier by yourself,” he whispered in her ear. His lips brushed her skin as he spoke. “But you knew you had a better chance of success by working with someone rather than alone.” He walked her backward, until her spine touched the wall. “A partner who acknowledges and respects your skills.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “As I do.”

“True,” she murmured, and tugged one hand free in order to cup his jaw and move his mouth into proper position for a full kiss.

He groaned his approval, and wrapped one arm around her waist, the other holding the back of her head, enveloping her in a cocoon of passion.

“I’m still not a patient woman,” she said, sliding her hand down his muscular chest, past his trim waist, and lower. “I don’t think I can wait until we’re married before we finish what we started on the roof.” She closed her hand around him, through his breeches.

His breath caught, and released in a hot rush against her neck. “We’ll have to work on teaching you patience.” He bunched her skirt up in his hands and started sliding it up her thighs. “Later…”

Moncreiffe Hall, the Lake District
One month later

F
eeling the afternoon sun on her face, Charlotte rolled over in bed, away from the intruding light. She reached out her arm, blindly patting the mattress beside her. Empty.

She opened her eyes and squinted at the bed canopy and curtains, still startled to see the deep indigo and rich mahogany.

Molly, her maid, scratched on the door. “Beg pardon for the intrusion,” she said, “but a note has just arrived for you. The messenger said as how it was urgent.”

Charlotte stretched, luxuriating in the feel of the soft cotton sheets against her bare skin. “Slide it under the door, please.”

A piece of folded vellum slid across the floor.

Alistair, who had been standing at the now-cold breakfast tray, bent over and picked it up. “It’s from Lord Q, addressed to both of us.” He ate a bite of licorice and held the rest of the piece out to her.

She shook her head, letting a lazy smile of appreciation stretch across her face as she watched him. Early afternoon sunlight gilded his bare skin, turning the light dusting of hair on his powerful thighs and muscular chest to burnished gold.

“Read it later. Come back to bed.” She stretched again, letting the sheet fall away from her naked torso.

He slid in beside her and kissed her beneath the ear, his arm snaking around her waist. “Excellent idea,” he murmured, his lips brushing her skin.

She gave herself up to his ministrations, but a few minutes later sighed in frustration. “He has the worst timing. Now I’m worried I will think about the letter’s contents at a most inopportune moment.”

He sighed, a warm, gentle puff in her ear. “It’s a good thing I’m secure in your affection for me. Otherwise I might be concerned about the amount of time you spend thinking about another man.”

“He is our employer.” Her sudden gasp had nothing to do with said employer and everything to do with Alistair’s tongue.

Without interrupting his exploration of her skin—a freckle hunt, he’d called it a few mornings ago—Alistair reached for the note beside the pillow and handed it to her. “What’s so urgent the old man couldn’t give us time for a decent honeymoon? We’ve been gone less then a week.”

She broke the seal and read it, though it took her much longer than usual since her concentration was elsewhere. “Seems he has another assignment for us.”

“Mmm.”

She shivered in appreciation of what Alistair was doing, and slid her fingers through his hair. “Doesn’t he know we’re in the midst of watching the Orionid meteor showers?”

Alistair traced lines between her freckles with his fingertips, and followed the path with scorching kisses. “That’s only at night, Charlotte.”

True. She had the best of both worlds now, even though it would be hours before she’d be able to speak again in words of more than one syllable. Nights spent under the stars with Alistair, mornings and afternoons sleeping in his embrace, exploring the delights of the marriage bed. Which left their evenings free, to work for Lord Q if they chose.

“But you make me see stars, day
and
night.”