The Mercenary (19 page)

gratefully sank into it, looking straight into Marc’s eyes across the table.

For a moment she saw blazing heat before he picked up the fluted Baccarat glass beside his place setting

and took a sip, his face bland.

“You found things to your satisfaction, I trust?” Tory hated the sibilance of Ragno’s voice.

“Everything was quite satisfactory. No, thank you,” she added, putting her hand over her glass as he

held up the bottle of wine.

“You don’t drink, Miss Jones?” Marc asked politely, accepting a refill. He looked devastatingly

handsome in a black tuxedo and crisp white shirt. The diamond earring was back, flashing in his ear, and

his hair was tied back. He looked exactly the way he sounded—sophisticated, wealthy, British and

slightly bored. For a moment his pewter gaze rested hotly on her breasts filmed by the sheer silk.

She forced herself to respond lightly. “Not on an empty stomach, Sir Ian.” She realized she was fidgeting

with the silverware and dropped her hands into her lap, managing to shrug enough of her hair over her

shoulder to cover more of her chest.

“Your face seems to be swollen, Miss Jones,” Marc said mildly. “You must have taken a nasty spill this

afternoon.” If Tory hadn’t jerked her head up to look at him, she would have missed the way his tanned

fingers tightened on the stem of his glass and the way his lips thinned.

“Let’s just say I came into contact with an immovable object.” She could feel the heat of Ragno’s

warning hand on her silk-clad knee. She twisted her legs out of reach and took a sip of water, giving him

a furious glance over her glass.

God, would this never end? Beneath the thin veneer of civilization at the table, the tension in the room

could have been cut with a knife. Ragno and Hoag had no idea who Marc really was, she was sure of

that. But by the same token she could see that they were both wary of him. Marc appeared mildly bored

by the whole thing—unless one caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were simmering with rage every time

he looked at her. What was he going to do? How on earth was he going to manage to get both her and

Alex out right under the noses of these men?

A white-uniformed waiter entered the room, and Tory felt the rumble of her stomach.

She was

absolutely starving, and she wondered how her body could still function as if everything were normal.

The food was beautiful to look at and absolutely inedible. The chef might be doing his job, but it was

obviously under duress. While she tried to eat what tasted like pure salt, she listened to Marc telling the

other two men of his friendship with the absent prince. He talked easily of his business interests in

England and Europe. If she hadn’t known better, she would have believed every word.

His

impersonation was impeccable.

Far from filling the empty void in her stomach, the food, either tasteless or so highly seasoned that she

had to gulp her water, had settled like a ball in the nervous knot of her stomach.

The three men didn’t seem to notice that she sat silently without contributing to the conversation.

Outwardly, everything seemed surrealistically normal. Conversation flowed, wine was poured, courses

served and plates removed and replaced.

It was with enormous relief that Tory saw the last dish taken away, and Ragno suggested coffee in the

drawing room.

Marc rounded the table and took her elbow as they preceded the other two men out of the dining room.

Tory’s heels clicked on the filthy marble floor, and she was incredibly grateful for his support as they

entered the formal drawing room. Her legs felt like jelly, and her heart had taken up permanent residence

in her throat. “What the hell induced you to wear—For God’s sake, keep your hair where it is, covering

your chest.” Marc gritted under his breath as he led her to a white velvet camelback sofa, his back to the

other two. “And smile, damn it.”

Tory managed a credible smile, her heart in her eyes as she arranged her hair so that it pooled in her lap,

and the long skirt so that it covered her knees.

Marc settled himself beside her, pinching the knees of his pants and leaning back as if he didn’t have a

care in the world. Tory felt perspiration beading her forehead under her bangs.

The other two men took the sofa opposite and Ragno indicated the tarnished, Georgian silver coffee

service on the table between them. “Will you pour, Miss Jones?” Tory shifted on the down-filled cushion, starting as she felt Marc’s hand on her hair. She shot him a

startled glance as he pushed her hair back from her face, but leaving long waves discreetly covering her

chest.

“You have glorious hair, Miss Jones. I’d hate to see it trailing in the coffee.” For a moment, as their eyes

locked, they might have been the only two people in the room.

Marc felt the familiar heat when he touched her. It was an incredible risk that could blow his cover, but

ever since she’d walked into the dining room, his fingers had itched to tangle in the glossy dark curls that

flowed down her back and over the tantalizing swell of her breasts.

She avoided looking at him as she handed him his cup. Her face was pale, the swelling of her jaw an

obscenity on her clear skin, despite the makeup.

Marc vowed he’d kill the bastard who’d hit her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EVEN WITH HER EYESshadowed, Tory was incredibly beautiful in the figure-hugging green dress,

her hair shiny and curling wildly down her back. How the hell had he ever thought her plain?

Marc let out a short frustrated breath and caught Samuel Hoag’s assessing glance across the table. He

shrugged as if to say, Yes, I find her attractive.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game. He had to get Lynx out. Tory’s brother wouldn’t be any

help with his own rescue. Not with his injuries. But how much longer could Tory hold herself together

without breaking? He couldn’t carry them both out of here. Not at the same time.

Studying the two men, Marc mentally tallied everything he knew about them while keeping up his end of

the conversation. Out of the corner of his eye he observed Tory wilting against the pillows. After several

moments she blinked, then jerked upright and settled the cup back in its saucer, pushing her hair out of

the way as she straightened her spine. He almost smiled as she tilted that combative little chin.

Besides the pain from the obvious beating she’d sustained, she must be both exhausted and terrified.

They’d been up since the crack of dawn. She’d barely eaten anything at dinner and she’d been to hell

and back today. She was holding up remarkably well, he thought, as he drank the strong coffee. He felt a

surge of pride.

She’d gone along with his “Sir Ian” cover, but she was off balance and tired. Enough to blow the whole

thing. He needed to get her out of the room.

Out of the palace. Off Marezzo.

Tory first, he decided. If he could get her out of the palace, and contact Angelo for pickup, he could

sneak back inside and retrieve Lynx.

Yeah. Tory first.

Noticing the subtle tremor in her hands as she clutched the delicate cup, Marc said mildly, “It seems

Miss Jones is about to fall asleep in her coffee.” He rose and held out his hand to her.

She blinked, her

eyes glazed. “Allow me to escort you to your room, my dear.” Tory took hold of his strong fingers like a lifeline. “Thanks…I’d like to go upstairs now, I have a

heada—”

“Giorgio will see her upstairs, Sir Ian. No need for you to bother yourself,” Ragno interjected smoothly,

snapping his fingers while pinning Marc with a warning look.

Marc helped Tory to her feet and waited until Giorgio came alongside her. He gave her a small smile and

seated himself, watching the sway of her hips in the tight dress as the other man led her away. Her clean,

shining hair caught the lights from the overhead chandeliers as it tumbled down her back.

“A beautiful woman,” Marc said, leaning over to refill his cup as the door closed behind her.

Ragno glanced at Hoag and then back at Marc. “The attraction seems mutual, but not particularly wise.”

“Do you think so, old chap? How intriguing.” Marc raised one dark brow with amusement. “I think I’ll

have to go up and check on Miss Jones’s…headache.” Ragno’s eyes went cold. “I wouldn’t be too confident of my welcome if I were you, Sir Ian. Despite the

way she was dressed this evening, Miss Jones does not give the impression she is a woman who intends

to share her sexual favors with a man she’s just met.” He glanced over at Hoag.

“We could perhaps procure a young lady from the village for Sir Ian, Samuel?” Marc shot his cuffs as he rose, hiding his irritation with a cocky grin. “No need, old chap. Why send out

for someone when I have what I want right here?” His smile widened as he murmured,

“I think I’ll just

give it a go with my best shot. I say, are you a betting man, Ragno?” TORY KICKED OFFher high heels as soon as Giorgio left. She was absolutely exhausted, but the

coffee was coursing through her system, making her jittery and wired. She paced from one end of the

opulent bedroom to the other before pulling at the zipper of her dress. As she was shrugging the heavy

gown over her shoulders she heard a brisk knock at the door and her heartbeat sped up again. Surely

not Giorgio? He would have just barged in. For a moment she paused, holding the dress securely against

her thumping heart.

“Miss Jones?”

Marc.Tory stumbled to the door, tugging at the Queen Anne chair she’d wedged under the handle. She

pulled open the door and almost fell into his arms.

She was about to say his name, but he put his finger over her mouth. “I found some aspirin in my room,

Miss Jones. These should do the trick with that headache of yours. If you have a couple of glasses you

can wash them down with this.” He held up a bottle, and said under his breath, “Invite me in, damn it.”

“That was very…kind of you. Please, come in.” He still wore the tux, but had stripped off his bow tie

and loosened the collar of the white shirt. A wedge of dark skin covered with crinkly hair showed

through the opening.

He followed her into the room, closing the door behind him. Tory stood next to the bed, her hand still

over her chest to hold up the weight of the loosened dress.

“I know you said that you weren’t a drinker, my dear.” He nodded his approval of the chair by the

door. “But I think a couple of these and a glass of good Italian wine will fix you right up.

You should

sleep like a baby.”

“That’s very kind of you, Sir…Sir Ian. I’ll get the glasses.” Tory watched Marc prowl the room, and

then turned to the bar and picked up a couple of crystal wineglasses. He’d removed his watch and was

checking the room for…? What?

“Thanks.” Marc took both glasses and set them on the bedside table. He lifted the shade from the lamp

and nodded before pouring the wine. “Here you go.” He handed her one of the glasses and made a noisy

production of opening the pill bottle. “Two of these should get rid of that headache.”

“Bugs,” he mouthed, indicating the lamp with a jerk of his shoulder. Tory’s eyes opened wide.

Bugs? As in someone listening to their every word? She looked at Marc with a small question and he

nodded grimly. She motioned to her eyes. Can theysee us? He shook his head, pointing to his ear. They

could be seen, but not heard. “Keep talking,” he said under his breath, as he continued to check the rest

of the room. Every now and then she could see a little red light blink on and off. Another bug. She

rubbed her arms trying to get rid of the chill.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say as she stared at him blankly. He held up three fingers and came back

to her. His hand slipped under the silky fall of her hair.

How could he think of sex now? Tory moved away but he grabbed her by the arm and drew her back,

close enough so that she felt the heat of his body.

“You have beautiful hair, my dear. When I saw you at dinner tonight, all I could think of was having it

wrapped around my body.” His voice was husky, his eyes held a warning. “Say something encouraging.”

She met his gaze, her mind totally blank. How could she hope to have two conversations at once, with

his fingers stroking her neck? Tory closed her eyes and tilted her face. “Kiss me!” she demanded—to

Marc and to their listening audience. She couldn’t begin to come up with something that sounded even

remotely subtle and seductive at the same time. Her mind was completely blank.

For a moment he paused and then with a muffled groan he took her offered mouth and kissed her hard.

Tory wrapped her arms around his neck, straining to get closer as he used his lips and tongue to drive her

out of her mind.

When he stepped away, the dress fell to the floor. Tory just stood there in her sheer panty hose and lacy

bra as Marc moved swiftly about the room. Her breath was labored as he came back to her.

He stroked the swell of her breasts above the pushup bra and then shook his head. “You have a

remarkable body, Miss Jones…Victoria, if I may? So soft, so smooth…Oh yes. Just like that. Is this an

invitation, my dear?”

“Yes.” Tory replied weakly as he pulled her over to the bed.

The springs creaked slightly as he pulled her down on the bed. A puff of dust settled, she bit her lip. The

musty-smelling lavender satin spread felt cool on her heated skin. She started unbuttoning his shirt,