Traitor and the Tunnel (7 page)

The Easton home was one of a recently-built row of townhouses, elegant in its proportions without being fashionable. It was nothing, in short, to make a cal er quake – except for the knowledge of what lay within.

Mary turned away from the cab, which lingered invitingly at the kerb, and knocked on the door. She did it quickly so that she’d not have the option of fleeing – although the housekeeper’s expression as she opened the door suggested it would have been her best course of action.

“Miss Quinn.”

Mary drew a deep breath and stepped into the hal . There was no retreat now. “Mrs Vine. Is Mr James Easton at home?”

With her lips pressed together, the housekeeper showed Mary to the breakfast room, where the fire had gone out and the lamps were unlit, and shut the door with a decisive click. Mary was certain that there were other, more comfortable rooms where a welcome cal er might have waited, but this was fine.

She’d not been turned away at the door, and that was a start. She stared out of the window into the garden square, and tried to compose herself.

Perhaps a minute later, the door clicked open again and an al -too-familiar voice said, “Is that you, Mary? What are you doing, skulking there in the dark and cold?”

She couldn’t speak; the sound lodged highest in her throat was a sob, and she certainly couldn’t let that out. The best she could manage was a feeble shrug.

He looked … wonderful. Partly because he was James Easton, clever, sardonic, intense, and far and away the most interesting man she’d ever met. But even more because he looked healthy once more.

The malaria-racked skeleton of their last encounter was transformed. He’d gained some much-needed weight; the edges of his cheeks and chin were thin, but not gaunt. And even in this half-light, he looked astonishingly handsome. No – better than handsome.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said, in her primmest voice.

“I can’t actual y see you, though. Come into the study. I can’t imagine why Mrs Vine put you in here in the first place.”

Mary could. But she found that she couldn’t meet James’s gaze, or control the hot flush that sprang to her cheeks when she brushed past him on the way to the study. Here, the fire crackled cheerful y and the gaslight made the cherry-wood desktop gleam. She shivered, nevertheless.

“Are you cold?” Before she could reply he was feeding the fire, angling a pair of logs over the bright flames.

“Thank you.”

He brushed off his hands and looked at her, his dark eyes searching her face. “You’ve already said that.”

She tried to smile. “A little politeness never hurt.”

His own smile barely touched his lips. “It’s new for us, at least.”

Us. She’d no idea how to interpret that. “You look very wel ,” she said, then cringed inside: she sounded like somebody’s busybody mother.

“As do you.”

Liar. She could wel picture her winter-chalk complexion, dark shadows beneath her eyes, and the several locks of hair that always escaped her tightly wound bun. “Er—” She didn’t dare thank him again, but she could hardly plunge straight into her request.

He stared at her for a moment longer, then let out a whoosh of air. “Mary, aren’t we rather beyond smal talk?”

Startled, she met his gaze. “You’re right.”

“Not to mention you’re rather bad at it.”

“Only with you.”

He smiled, then, his features lighting up with pure happiness. “It is a pleasure to see you, though.”

She caught her breath. “And you.” Pleasure was the right word: just looking at him made her dizzy.

His dark hair, normal y cropped short, was long enough now to hint at unruliness. His locks looked as though they might actual y be wavy, and she longed to explore them with her fingers. The lines of his jaw, too: he was stil clean-shaven, unfashionably so, and looking at him, she couldn’t imagine why men might ever want to grow beards.

God only knew how long she’d been staring at him with undisguised hunger when the door opened quite suddenly, and Mrs Vine reappeared. “Do you require refreshment, sir?”

James glanced at Mary, as if to say that the decision was hers to make. She shook her head.

That meant a long visit. “Thank you, no.”

“Very good, sir.” Mrs Vine shut the door with great care, and Mary resisted the urge to pul a face at the closed door. That whole loyal-retainer act was a little excessive. She turned back to James, disciplining her thoughts, drawing breath to explain her errand –

only to find herself suddenly, blissful y, enfolded in his arms.

“Let’s start again,” he murmured, tilting her head back and covering her mouth with his. She gasped, and then felt his smile against her lips. “No smal talk, remember?”

Her arms locked round his neck – she couldn’t help it. She clung to him, the fixed point in a giddy, tilting universe, and revel ed in the taste, the feel, the scent of him. He was the only man she’d ever kissed, the only one she could imagine igniting this trembling hunger, this need, within her. He stroked the length of her back and she wanted to purr like a cat. Shedding her gloves with clumsy haste, she raked her fingers through his hair and was rewarded by a sharp hiss. He caught one hand and, pressing a fierce kiss into her palm, guided it beneath his jacket so she could feel the heat of him, the mad hammering of his heart against her bare skin. She stroked his chest, the linen warming to fever temperature beneath her hands, and tilted her head back to reach his lips again.

“Mary.” His voice was hoarse, the words slurred.

“Oh, God, I’ve missed you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

His words froze her. Pierced her. Made her exult, and then long to weep. After a long moment of stil ness, she began to disentangle herself –

unwound his arm from her waist, turned her face from his. “James, stop.” She became shameful y conscious of her loosened hair, a tangled mass of unmoored pins and stray locks. “James. Please.”

Where on earth was her hat? And how had she ended up in such an unladylike position, on a desk?

“Listen to me.”

He blinked, his eyes gradual y clearing. “What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry – I should never have let you kiss me like that.”

A long, tense pause. Then a dul red flush appeared high on his cheekbones. “You mustn’t apologize – I al but attacked you. I did attack you.”

“It’s not that.” Honesty compel ed her to say as much. “I enjoyed your … attentions.”

A pause. “If that’s so, I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“I didn’t come here for that.”

“Not even a little bit of ‘that’? I mean, it’s more than merely physical, between us, but animal passion has its place.”

She almost smiled at his hopeful tone. “I came here to speak to you about something important.”

He frowned. “You’re stil angry with me – and I can’t blame you! I behaved inexcusably that last time, after the incident at the clock tower. I was a self-righteous prig, and I—” He faltered at her expression. “And I’m attacking you again, with words. I’m sorry; I’l just listen, for a bit.”

He looked and sounded more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. Normal y, he seemed much older

than

twenty-one.

Too

assured.

Too

responsible. Too world-weary. Now, he was almost boyish. Eager. And for both their sakes, she had to end this madness.

She slid off the desk and smoothed her skirts.

Retrieved her hat from the corner of the room to which it had inexplicably rol ed. Smoothed her crumpled gloves. When she final y dared meet James’s eyes, she could see the resolve, the disciplined patience, shining out at her. They were two of the qualities she most admired in him – and which most terrified her, now.

“I didn’t come here to revive our – friendship.”

Friendship was such an inadequate word to describe her feelings for James; a cowardly word, even. But then, she’d never been brave where feelings were concerned. “I never meant to suggest otherwise. By my actions, I mean.” Her cheeks flamed at the memory. Had James not said those words, where might things have ended? They might stil be locked in an embrace on his desk.

He frowned at her, clearly struggling to understand. “I’m listening.”

She started. Stopped. Tried again. “I came to ask for a professional courtesy. I believe you’re soon to begin repairing some of the ancient sewers at Buckingham Palace.”

He let out a puff of laughter. “It’s only a top-secret project that concerns the safety of the royal family.

Natural y, you know al about it.”

She smiled faintly. “Congratulations; you must be very proud.”

“We are; thank you.” Those dark eyes were stil puzzled, but genuinely curious, too.

And now, the trickiest bit. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been working as a housemaid at the Palace. I expect to be there for at least another week.

Possibly more.”

He nodded, comprehension dawning.

“I thought it possible that we might accidental y cross paths at the Palace. It’s unlikely, given the secrecy of your work, but stil possible. And I wanted to ask you…” Her voice wobbled here, unexpectedly.

This was far from the largest or maddest request she’d ever asked of James. And yet it was the most difficult to make. “I wanted to ask if you would help preserve my secret. Not actively, of course; I shal be working alone. But I need to be sure that you’d not…”

“Not betray you?” His voice was acerbic. Clearly, he’d been expecting a different sort of request.

“I’d not have chosen that word.”

“But that’s what you meant. You were afraid that either through incompetence, or through the spite of the rejected suitor, I’d somehow spoil your game at the Palace.”

His anger startled her, roused her own latent indignation. “If we’re speaking of rejection, it was rather the other way round,” she retorted. “I wasn’t pure enough to suit your high moral principles …

although you seem to have lowered your standards a little – but I suppose that was mere animal passion.”

She regretted the words even as they left her mouth.

James’s eyes turned black, a sure sign of anger.

“Don’t pretend to be stupid. It’s more than mere physical passion for me, and you know that.”

Mary tamped down her anger. She couldn’t afford to let it divert her. “So you say,” she said, with icy courtesy. “But I don’t require protestations of devotion or apologies just now.”

“I see.”

“Wil you be able to pretend that you do not recognize me at the Palace?”

A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of obstructing your path.”

“Thank you. I’m very grateful.” She buttoned her coat – not that she remembered having unbuttoned it

– and reseated her hat, careless of how it might look.

In an exquisitely polite tone, he then said, “May I offer you the use of my carriage? It’s a most unpleasant day for a walk.”

Oh, how she hated the high moral ground when it was occupied by others. “It’s very kind of you, but I shal find a hansom without difficulty.” And such social niceties made her heartsick. Better never to speak to James at al than talk to him in this way.

“As you wish.” He avoided her eyes as he held the study door – a gentleman to the last. “Good-day, Miss Quinn.”

The wintry sleet came as a rude shock after the warmth of James’s study. Mary stalked southwards, trying not to shiver as a swift wind picked up, driving the rain against her skin with stinging force.

Natural y, there was no hansom cab in sight. And in her anger, she’d left her umbrel a in James’s front hal . Perhaps it was the cold, but the idiocy of their parting suddenly shocked her. She and James had always been passionate – both in rivalry and in partnership. But they needn’t leave things so raw.

They would never be casual friends, but she could, at the very least, retract her angry accusation. She stopped, half-way down Torrington Place, and retraced her steps, summoning her courage once more.

Mary knocked again and ignored Mrs Vine’s raised eyebrows. “Is he in the drawing room?”

“Yes, but—”

“No need to show me up.” Mary whisked inside and was half-way up the stairs before Mrs Vine could finish her sentence. She rapped twice on the drawing-room door and barged in. “James, I owe you an apology. I was—”

The words died in her mouth as she registered the scene before her: an extremely lovely young lady of about twenty, with shining red-gold curls, wearing a satin dress that must have cost more than Mary’s entire wardrobe. The beauty was sitting in an extremely casual posture on the floor, teasing a kitten with a feather. A second gentleman, with the same reddish-blond hair as the lady, sprawled in an armchair. And James lounged on the floor beside the girl, his back to the door. Al three were genuinely startled by the intrusion.

After a long, awkward moment, the two men scrambled to their feet. James’s expression was unreadable, the other man’s quizzical. The young lady, however, remained where she was, openly staring at Mary.

“I – I beg your pardon,” muttered Mary. Al her courage, her sensible intentions, dissolved instantly in the beam of the young lady’s startled blue gaze.