Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (7 page)

“I will pay you in full, Captain. Half now. Half later.”

Reynard stepped out of her way and nodded his understanding, a new respect evident in his demeanor. “As you wish,
Anglaise
.”

“What is his name, Captain?”

“Phillipe.”

“Does he have a last name?”

The captain’s voice quavered. “Reynard.”

…

It was near midnight on the night before her departure for London when Emily finished her simple list for the Barts of things to be done in her absence. She pushed her chair back from her desk. When Mr. Dodge arrived tomorrow morning to convey her to London, she did not want to risk any delays that would give the man access to the library. Though much improved by this afternoon, the young man resting in the hidden room behind the bookcase was still feverish and would occasionally groan or call out in his sleep.

Intending to check on her patient before going up to bed, she stood, turned to the bookcase and reached for the volume hiding the spring. A soft rustle behind her stayed her hand. Slowly, she turned.

There, with a crooked smile and a sparkle in his chestnut brown eyes, stood Ryan Sutton, the window open behind him. “Looking for bedtime reading, Miss Nevins?”

She surprised herself with a soft laugh. The cheek of the man! “I have a door, Mr. Dutton,” she said quietly, praying this interruption would not waken Phillipe Reynard. “Several, in fact.”

He moved closer as he shrugged his cloak off and let it drop to the floor. “What would be the fun in that, Miss Nevins? And the name is Sutton.”

She shrugged, pretending indifference. “Why have you come?”

“What? No ‘
Where have you been, Ryan?’
No,
‘I missed you, sir?
’”

She’d thought exactly those things, but she’d bite her tongue bloody before she’d admit that. “Shall we settle for, ‘
What are you doing here?
’”

“The last time I saw you, Miss Nevins, you were…incapacitated. I wished to reassure myself that you are well and that there will be no lasting damage.”

“Does your conscience need easing?”

He shook his head. “You were the one with the pistol, Miss Nevins. I was merely defending myself.”

Why had she thought he’d be contrite? “As you can see, sir, I am well enough but for a small limp.”

“I pray it is not permanent. A pity if it should keep you from dancing.”

“I doubt that will be a problem. I rarely have occasion to dance.”

“That, my dear, is a great pity. I should very much like to dance with you one day. Perhaps in London next week?”

Something warm began to grow in her until she felt the heat infuse her cheeks. Oh, she did not want to like the spy, but there was something—“London? You will be there?”

“Wherever you are, Miss Nevins, I will be watching.”

A muffled moan reached her ear, and she caught herself before she turned to the bookcase. She coughed and cleared her throat to cover the sound. “Pardon me,” she murmured.

A slow smile curved his lips. “Always.”

She could not tear her gaze from his mouth. “I… Is there anything else, Mr. Sutton? Any other reason for your presence here?”

“Making sure you are keeping your promise, Miss Nevins. Are you?”

“As long as you do not drag me into your treason, you are safe enough.”

“I shall not worry overmuch. After all, it would be a great pity if anyone should learn your mama is dead.”

She gasped. “How…how…”

He shrugged and came closer. “Did you think I would not make it my business to find out everything about a woman who could betray me?”

“You were in Scotland?” She was astonished that he would go to such lengths. Ah, this was why he’d come—to warn her that he held her fate in his hands. To assure her silence in London. As if she needed a reminder.

He came closer and ran a finger along her cheek. “I’ve told you I will do whatever I must to ensure the success of my cause.”

Her skin tingled in the wake of his finger, and a slow fire kindled deep inside her. “And I’ve told you your secret is safe.”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Then so is yours.”

She scarcely breathed waiting for him to withdraw.

Or continue.

His hand slipped downward, brushing across her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and her breasts tightened in response. “N-now that you are reassured, what is preventing you from leaving?”

“I wish I knew,” he said in a husky voice. “Shall we start with the fact that I am fascinated by the way you say no when you mean yes?”

“I think that is your imagination.”

“Oh, I promise you there is nothing wrong with my imagination.”

Nor hers. Seeing him there brought the memory of the way he’d touched her the last time he’d come through her window, and her heart skipped a beat. “Wishful thinking, then?”

He moved his hand around her waist to draw her against him. “Wishful thinking, indeed, though not without merit, is it, Emily?”

Oh, this had never been in her plan. Never a part of the life she’d envisioned after Oak Hill was finally back in the Nevins’ hands. He could never be a part of that—of the land she loved, the life she’d carved out for herself, or the dangerous secrets she’d carry to her grave. To the contrary, his mere presence threatened every bit of that.

“Was…was that your last question, sir?”

“I can think of more.” His gaze dropped to her throat when she swallowed. “Does your pulse still skip beats when I brush my lips across your throat? Is your skin still heated to my touch and is your scent still like lilacs and honey?”

Oh, he knew just the right things to say to leave her weak and clinging.

He crooked his finger and lifted her chin, and she knew she should turn away. But his thick sooty lashes lowered as his lips parted ever so slightly. She shouldn’t allow it. No, she really shouldn’t. It could lead to nothing good. She began to open her mouth to protest, but it was too late.

His lips were soft and cherishing as they molded to hers and the sweep of his tongue across hers more deeply intimate than she could have imagined. With that incursion, he’d merged with her, become a part of her, at least for that moment.

She lost all sense of time in the intimacy of that kiss. A moment? An hour? All she knew was that, by the time he lifted his mouth to skim across her cheek and nibble at her ear, she was molten. Burning. Urgent.

“Ryan.” The single word was an affirmation.

He groaned. “Ah, Emmy, are you willing? If you say no, I’ll not ask again, but if you say yes, I’ll waste no more time.”

Could she? Every delightful tingle coursing through her told her she could. She should. She would. “Ryan…” she murmured again, her voice thick with wanting. Nothing else mattered until she found what lay at the end of this path.

A faint rustle invaded her consciousness, but she did not care. She wrapped her arms around his neck and offered her lips again, craving his heat, his urgency, his very essence.

“What was that?” No longer a soft whisper, Ryan’s voice had become almost harsh. He straightened and glanced around.

Sanity returned with a breathless thud. She drew a long gasp, blinked and struggled to regain her senses. “I…it must be Mrs. Bart in the kitchen.”

“So late?” he growled.

“Tomorrow is baking day. She may have come to start the dough.” She slipped out of his arms and pulled him toward the window. “Hurry. If she sees you—”

He swept up his cloak and, half out the window, turned to her and shook his head. “One day, Emmy, I will take you someplace where there will be no interruptions.”

As sanity returned, she could not quite decide if that was a threat or a promise.

Chapter Seven

Emily frowned at her reflection in the mirror with deep consternation. Though the bodice of her new gown fit well, the waist was too large. Her stomach twisted with anxiety—a reaction that was becoming far too common since her arrival in London a few days ago. “Oh, Bridey, what can be the matter? It fit perfectly a few days ago.”

“Here now! You look like a fairy tale, miss, all ivory satin and white lace. And you’ve scarce eaten two bites together since we got here. Miss Theodora Dodge’s nagging, no doubt. She’s just like her father—bossy for all that she’s scarce older than you. She has made you all nerves and energy.”

“When she sees this…this travesty of a gown, she will say I cannot go to the ball, and I will be stuck in London even longer than I thought. Three days gone, and not a clue to Mr. Dodge’s scheme.”

“All you’ve had is fittings, miss. You will have to go out in society to ferret that information. He’s not likely to tell you, and his disagreeable daughter isn’t likely to know, let alone tell. Mayhap tonight will give you the opportunity to find him out.”

Emily glanced at the wardrobe in one corner of her room. “Perhaps a different dress?”

“Like as not they won’t be any better. You were fit for them all at once. Come, let’s see what we can do.” Bridey unfastened the gown and lifted it over Emily’s head. “If we loosen your stays or take them off, you will fill the dress out properly.”

Emily shrugged. She had nothing to lose at this point but more time waiting for her gowns to be taken in. She gave a long-suffering sigh when Bridey busied herself undoing the laces of her corset to free her natural figure and fill out the gown. Leaving naught but the silk chemise, the maid dropped the dress over her head again and fastened the long row of buttons up her back, then laced an embroidered stomacher to cinch her in a bit.

“There!” she exclaimed with a note of relief in her voice. “A perfect fit, and no one the wiser.”

Emily stared at her reflection with a critical eye. The gown was an exquisite ivory satin, embroidered around the fashionably low neckline and hem with several shades of pastel flowers linked by ice green vines and leaves and trimmed in lace. The dress managed to convey just the right mixture of innocence and allure and did not hint at the lack of a proper corset. Or a proper miss. And she wondered if Ryan Sutton would like it.

“’Twill do,” she conceded, vastly relieved that there would be no further delays in her introduction. The sooner that was done, the sooner she’d be home. She gave Bridey a quick hug. “I could not have survived this without you. No one knows quite how to save the day as you do.”

Bridey gave her a happy smile. “You make it easy, Miss Emily. You’re a rare jewel—not like some I’ve attended.” She sat Emily down in front of the dressing table, brushed through her thick hair, gathered it at the crown, and began to make ringlets around her finger. “Since you do not have a wig, I planned a high style with powder, miss, but I think there won’t be time. We shall have to make the most of your own curls and do it a little higher and grander. ’Tis a good thing your own hair is so long and thick. Aye, you will make a splash and enjoy yourself tonight.”

“The only thing I’ve enjoyed in London is my riding lessons. I’ve been fearful and hesitant in the saddle ever since Mama… Well, Theodora was right—my form was deplorable. Sprite has not thrown me once since we began the lessons in Hyde Park.”

“The real purpose in going to Hyde Park is to ‘be seen,’ miss. Did Miss Theodora not explain that?” Bridey secured the upswept sides of Emily’s hairdo to her crown with a simple mother-of-pearl comb. With the addition of an ice green silk fan, Emily was ready when the knock sounded on her door.

Theodora was gowned in light blue to compliment her fair complexion and pale beauty. Her fragile appearance belied her true nature—that of a commanding general.

“I vow! You are so slow, Emily. Oh!” Her gaze dropped to Emily’s gown. “Why, look at you! You are…not quite decent.”

Emily looked down and was horrified to note that, with the addition of the stomacher, the swell of her breasts nearly rose to the top of her snug décolletage. Half an inch more and her modesty would be seriously compromised. The sleeves were full but off the shoulders, leaving a wide expanse of bare flesh. “You approved it at the fittings, Miss Dodge,” she reminded.

“Something is different,” she mused. “I specifically instructed the dressmaker to guard your modesty since you are a simple country girl.”

Emily exchanged a guilty glance with Bridey.

Theodora waved dismissively. “Drat! There’s no time to change now. Get your cloak, Emily. Haven’t you some piece of jewelry to draw eyes away from your bosom?”

“None, I fear.” What was left of her mother’s jewelry was still in the hidden room at Oak Hill, along with a French smuggler. She hadn’t thought to bring it.

“Fie! Well, we must leave straight away, or I’d loan you something of mine. Papa is pacing in the foyer, and you know how cross he can be. The coach has been out front for an hour.”

“I’ll be waiting up, miss,” Bridey whispered as Emily passed her on her way to the door. “I shall want to hear everything.”

Mr. Dodge stood poised for departure at the foot of the staircase. His eyebrows rose when he saw her, and she feared he would send her back to her room. But he only gave his daughter an irritated glance, as if he blamed her for Emily’s appearance.

Their exit was accomplished in a flurry of cloaks and wraps, last- minute instructions, and a few steps into the foggy night to the private coach. Once settled and under way, Henry and Theodora Dodge turned their attention to her with a barrage of advice.

“Now remember, Miss Nevins, do not pick your teeth or display any of those other countrified manners. And you mustn’t gulp your wine,” Theodora instructed.

Mr. Dodge’s words were even more slighting. “Have a care not to insult anyone with ‘Lord,’ ‘Your Grace,’ ‘Sir,’ or ‘Your Highness,’ attached to his name, will you?”

Emily clenched her teeth to keep from making a scathing remark. They really thought her a bumpkin.

“Remember to stand back from fireplaces, Miss Nevins. You are not accustomed to such full skirts, and more than one young lady has had to be doused with punch to put out her gown And you mustn’t belch.”

Belch? Emily blinked. Did they really thing her so provincial?

“’Twouldn’t be wise to favor any one man too much tonight, Miss Nevins,” Dodge told her. “Do not dance more than twice with anyone, unless he is a duke or higher.”

“Try to accept compliments graciously. Do your utmost to cultivate anyone with ‘Lord,’ ‘Your Grace,’ ‘Sir,’ or ‘Your Highness’ attached to his name.”

“Refer interested parties and invitations to me,” Dodge ordered. “I shall decide which are worthy of consideration.”

“I have been in society before,” she finally reminded them.

Theodora’s nagging droned on, and Emily glanced out the coach window and smiled. Here she was in London! And then, for no particular reason, she thought of Ryan Sutton again. A shiver went up her spine.

She’d dreamed of him again last night…the same disturbing dream that had haunted her since their last meeting. It began with the smile—the flash of white in a tanned handsome face, the unexpected appearance of a boyish dimple—and ended with the new things he’d taught her. Things that still left her yearning for those feelings again. She was ashamed of those feelings, but, oh, how she craved them.

Ah well, London was immense. How difficult could it be to avoid him?

…

In a private room of a small inn in the shadows of Parliament, Ryan watched the candlelight flicker through the amber fluid in his glass. He swirled the glass between his palms, warming the fluid to body temperature as he leaned back in the overstuffed chair. His eyes settled upon the gray-green leaves painstakingly hand-painted as an edging along the cornice of the ceiling.

A grin curved his lips as the memory of silver-green eyes, and Emily Nevins came to mind—intelligent, brave, opinionated, proud, and incredibly strong-willed. He’d learned from Bridey that she had carried the weight of her estate and her sister alone for nigh on six years. He yearned to discover the quality in her character that remained loyal to a handyman and his wife beyond their prime, a mare that would never be wholly tame, and a handful of tenant farmers who always came up short on their rents, as well as the unusual compassion that led her to protect those animals and people.

God, what he’d give to be one of them.

Just knowing he would see her tonight, perhaps within the hour, was playing sufficient havoc with his concentration. With an intensity uncommon to him, he ached to take her. Lay her bare and drink his fill. Plunder her body—memorize it so there’d be no more secrets between them. And then? Leave her when his mission was done?

Could he
ever
leave her if he had her even once?

He filled his glass again and sauntered to the window to gaze out at the darkened London street. All his energy and concentration must be directed to the cause. The best he could hope for was that he wouldn’t be forced to lock her away for the duration of the war. He doubted he’d be able to harm her in any way.

An imperative knock brought Ryan’s attention back to the present. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened, and Janet Turner made her entrance. And what an entrance! She was a vision in gold, from her shining blond hair to the tip of her golden slippers. She faced him after closing the door and leaning back against it, slightly breathless and completely alluring. “Ryan, darling, we must not be long. I’m to meet Rodney downstairs in an half an hour.”

Duty called. He’d become quite proficient with buttons and lacings, though he suddenly lacked the interest. At least where Janet was concerned.

Still leaning against the door, she arched her back to expose the tightened tips of her breasts over the low rim of her gown. “God! I burn for you, Ryan! Hurry—hurry!”

The move was so practiced that it failed to elicit any sort of response in him. To the contrary, he stood and walked slowly toward her, knowing she would be nearly frantic by the time he arrived.

He’d had reservations about having an affair with the mistress of an important peer, but Janet was less than discreet when in the throes of passion.

For Janet, the danger of imminent discovery added extra excitement to an affair. Even now, the sounds of drinking and gaming from the floor below reminded him that tonight’s rendezvous was especially dangerous.

She held her arms out, “Come, Ryan,” she urged. “I can wait no longer. I burn for you.”

He had no doubt. Part of the pleasure for Janet was her own flirtation with danger. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Janet had remembered to lock the door. Their position would be highly embarrassing if other patrons of the gaming house seeking privacy blundered into this room.

He accommodated what she wanted, pinning her against the door as he lifted her skirts. But, this time, the thought of entering Janet was more than he could stomach. Instead he teased her by nipping at the exposed buds above her décolletage and used one hand to bring her to a frenzied, moaning completion.

When she’d finally caught her breath, she whispered, “How much longer do we have?”

“A few minutes,” he answered, still supporting her weight against the door. “How did you get away tonight?” He knew something must be afoot with the privy council to have delayed Lord Peele.

“Roddy was called to a meeting. That stupid war again. Something about troop reinforcements in the south. Georgia, I think.” She bit his shoulder playfully.

Ryan grinned. This news made his evening well spent, despite Janet’s ravening demands. “You’d better hurry, Janet.”

She was quick to detect the chill in his manner, and pouted. “Why do you look at me so? I do not deserve your disgust. You are a part of this affair, too.”

“I own it, Janet. Do not ask me to be proud of it.”

“Please, Ryan. I couldn’t bear to lose you now.”

“Now?” Ryan backed away from her, and her skirts fell back into place. “Why now?”

Janet lowered her lashes and licked her lower lip. “Now that we are…attuned to one another. You are a skillful lover, Ryan.”

He winced, knowing the veiled implication in Janet Peele’s words.
Now that we are attuned to one another,
could be interpreted as,
Now that you know and are willing to accommodate my taste for quick, nearly public couplings.
This was hardly something he could be proud of. Certainly nothing to write his mother about.

“Once more?”

“It’s growing late. You should put yourself to rights.”

“You’re angry,” she accused.

“You know how I feel about you.” He heard the chill note of a mechanical reply in his own voice and wondered if she would detect it.

But she smiled with confidence. She wet her lips with her luscious tongue and smiled. “Once more, Ryan? Quickly?”

Damn! She’d be the death of him yet.

…

Less than an hour later, in a small tavern in the shadows of Parliament, Ryan passed the information on. “This particular message is urgent, Archer. Please pass it along with all due speed. I have friends who will be interested in this news.”

“I’ll see to it. Anything else?”

“Keep watch for anything suspicious. Our priority is to secure the network. We must find Erikson’s British contact. You know where to leave word for me if there is anything compelling.” He handed over a written communication containing the information he had gotten from Janet earlier in the evening.

John Archer, Ryan’s second in command, finished his tankard of ale. “Have you narrowed the possible suspects?”

Ryan hesitated. Instinct told him he could trust Archer, his friend and confidant, but caution bade him to keep his thoughts to himself. “The whole damn country is our enemy. It would be easier to find who in Britain is
not
a suspect.”

Archer sighed and looked pensive, “You think we still have a leak, do you not?”