Enchanted by Your Kisses (30 page)

"I see the clothes fit her as well as the ones I secured for you."

"They do, but I am not pleased with the attire."

He turned back to her. "
Whyever
not? It looks quite effective to me. I would not know her for a woman had I seen her on the street. Phoebe tells me you bound your breasts. That was quite good thinking."

Not know her for a woman? Was the man blind? Could he not see as clear as day that the exotic, slanted eyes, thick brows and luscious lips belonged to a woman? The way she blushed at the mention of her breasts. Bloody hell, her wonderful breasts.

"She needs to wear something else."

"No time."

"There is plenty of time."

Reggie looked at his pocket watch. "We need to get there as the guard changes. There is no time."

Nathan wanted to protest further. Bloody hell, how he wanted to protest.

"Are we ready?" Ariel asked. "For if so, I would like to say good-bye to Phoebe first." She shot out of the room before Reggie had a chance to protest.

"She should change," Nathan immediately complained again.

Reggie peered over at him with a look of impatience. "Mr.
Trevain
, let us get something straight. I am helping you under duress. What Ariel is wearing is her best chance of getting in and out of the Admiralty without being detected. I may be angry with her. I may want to throttle her. But I love her like a sister, and I do not want to see her get caught. Now, shall we leave?"

He didn't wait for Nathan, much to his disgruntlement. Yet oddly enough, as he watched him go, Nathan wasn't angered by the speech. Instead he found himself almost liking the man.

The office of the Admiralty was located in
Whitehall
, a bustling street with three-and four-story buildings blocking the afternoon sun. Ariel had never been inside the offices before, although she'd been in front of them often enough, usually when her father stopped on his way out of town.

Now her pulse leaped as they pulled up in front, the red-coated guards on either side of a nondescript door making her instantly nervous.

"We will start in the records room," Reggie said. "Follow me."

The records room. It sounded so official, Ariel thought, squirming upon her seat. The door opened, emitting the smell of mud, sewer and horses. None of it fazed Ariel as she gingerly stepped down, Nathan following in her wake. She did tense, however, as they passed the guards, but no cry of "Halt, who goes there?" stopped them. Thank goodness.

Inside were narrow halls with numerous doors lining them. The air felt dank and smelled of paper and men, not surprising, since there were men in abundance around. It was a Thursday, most of the Admiralty staff in attendance, though probably not as many as had occupied the place in time of war. Still, Ariel felt intimidated by the blue-and-gold-jacketed officers, despite her familiarity with everything Navy.

And nobody spared her a glance.

She felt a bit miffed about that. After all, it wasn't as if she looked
that
boyish. Then she reminded herself that she should be grateful no one gave her more than a passing glance. The realization caused her steps to become more bold, the freedom the breeches provided feeling rather scandalous and wonderful.

"Turn here," Reggie instructed.

They turned left down a hall with doors on either side of it—some open, some closed—then climbed up two flights of steps to the third floor. Apparently, no one thought it odd to see a secretary, a young lad and an officer, though more than one person gave Nathan a passing glance. '
Twas
the scar, no doubt, Ariel thought. The thing made him look rather dashing and dangerous, like an officer just come back from war, the hat beneath his arm completing the image.

"Here," Reggie said, stopping before a door.

Her heart sped up again. They stood in a long hall, windows to their left, a row of doors to their right, all of which were closed. It appeared deserted and little used, dots of dust dancing upon lazy air currents, the windows dull for lack of cleaning. Reggie felt inside his pocket, and when that turned up nothing, searched the other.

"Damnation, I forgot my keys." He faced them. "Let me fetch another set from my office. You two wait here." He took a step, stopped, turned back to them. "Do not move. And if anyone asks you a question, Ariel, you stay quiet. Mr.
Trevain
, you say you're waiting for me."

Ariel nodded, Nathan did nothing more than cross his arms. Reggie kept his gaze fixed upon him for a long moment, shooting him a look of warning, before he swiveled on his heels and left, his steps angry on the hardwood floor.

"We should go with him," Nathan said.

"No," Ariel contradicted him, reaching out to stop him. "He will be back in a moment."

Nathan looked at her hand. She dropped it, though she had to force herself to do so. Suddenly she felt a bit intimidated by her surroundings. Or was it the look on Nathan's face? It had hardened since their arrival. His demeanor was that of a callous soldier. Gone was the lover who'd told her he'd wanted her; in his place stood a man who looked the part of a warrior.

"I do not trust him," he said.

"
Whyever
not?"

"Because he is British."

"So am I."

He met her gaze, his eyes a smoky gray. "Yes, you are."

They lapsed into silence, Ariel feeling her pulse beat faster as she garnered the courage to ask a question she'd never dared ask before. "Nathan, why do you hate the English so?"

"One of your captains stole my brother."

"Yes, I know, but there is more than that. Your hatred runs deep. I can tell."

"Oh? Are you a soothsayer? Did you, perhaps, inherit gypsy skills from your mother?"

She stiffened at the mention of her mother. "You are being rude."

"And you are being impertinent in asking such a question."

"Yet I notice you have not answered it."

His jaw tightened, so did his lips. His eyes grew as tough as steel.

She touched his arm, the urge uncontrollable. His muscles were stiff beneath the wool jacket. "What is it, Nathan? What has hurt you so?"

He drew away. "You imagine things, Ariel."

"Do I?" she asked. "I wonder. And I wonder why you will not answer the question."

"I have already answered," he snapped, his face turning more hard, more cold, his eyes warning her away. "I told you 'tis because of my brother."

"And I know 'tis more than that."

"You know nothing—"

A door closed at the end of the hall. Both Nathan and Ariel stiffened. A man came toward them, the sound of his boots echoing off the floor. He gave them a curious glance before passing. Ariel breathed a sigh of relief.

"You were saying?" she asked.

"I was saying you'd best drop the subject."

"No," Ariel found herself disagreeing. "You owe me an explanation, Nathan
Trevain
. I have put
everything
aside to help you. Everything. My integrity. My honesty. My loyalty to my country." She suddenly found herself angry. "You intended to use me, then you went and kidnapped me. You have been mean to me, rude to me, threatened me. And still—
still
—I put aside my prejudices to help. You could at least tell me why it is you refuse to do the same." She turned, stomped to the window. The street below was a long way down.

A hand upon her shoulder startled her.

"You are correct," he said.

She refused to face him. He turned her around, and she was surprised to see he looked genuinely contrite. "I am a cad and a bounder and all those other things you've called me."

"You are," she agreed, looking into eyes gone silver in the afternoon light.

"Sometimes it's hard for a man to forget the past."

She tilted her chin, refusing to let him see how much he'd hurt her by not answering.

Hurt her? As if he had the power. He did not, she told herself.

"As hard as it is for a woman to forget, no doubt," she said.

His eyes softened. "No doubt."

She turned back to the window. Where was Reggie? Gracious, but she wished they could leave.

"I was betrayed by a woman."

She stiffened.

"An English woman. A spy, sent from
London
to track me down." His hand dropped to his side. His voice was low as he told her the tale. This time it was his turn to stare out the window. "She came to
Virginia
in 1778. I'd been performing my duties as a spy for two years." He shot her a glance. "My ability to mimic a British officer is exemplary."

She had no doubt it was. Even now he looked every inch the part.

"I had no idea that my reputation had reached across the ocean or that they would feel threatened enough by me to send someone to stop me." This time when he turned to face her, he touched his scar. "She almost did."

She gasped. "She did that to you?"

"Aye."

No wonder he had been so angry on discovering her deceit. No doubt he'd thought her cut from the same cloth.

"But that is not the worst of it."

She searched his eyes, looking for a clue as to what could possible be worse.

"She'd gotten close to me by becoming more than a"—he searched for the right word—"friend."

"Did you love her?" she asked, obviously understanding what he meant. Though she didn't look shocked by the admission, she was obviously repulsed.

"I did."

"You did," she repeated, turning away to stare out of the window. "I'm sorry for that, Nathan. I know how it is to think someone loves you only to find out they don't love you in return."

Aye. She must, but she had become a better person for the betrayal, he thought, whereas he had become bitter and hard.

"She left the colonies, thinking she had killed me."

"And you let her go on thinking that?"

"I let the English go on thinking that. It served my purpose. She was after information I had in my possession. With the British thinking me dead, they no longer pursued me. I ended up taking the information to my superiors, information that ultimately resulted in the your countrymen's defeat at Cowpens. But the ball she struck me with ended my career as a spy, for I could not effectively disguise my face. So I suppose in the end they got what they wanted. I wasn't dead, but my career was over."

"And that angered you," she stated matter-of-factly.

"It turned me bitter," he found himself admitting. "I wanted revenge against your kind. I joined the militia, fought in hand-to-hand combat. That is where I truly learned to hate everything British, for the tactics were brutal. Women and children were killed, houses burned. I did my best to take out as many of the bastards as I could. '
Tis
where I got the rest of my scars."

If she seemed repulsed or upset that he'd killed her fellow countrymen, she didn't show it. Instead she turned toward him, her face unreadable. He found himself unable to look away from those golden eyes. Found himself wanting to pull her into his arms, to hold her as the images of war and what it'd been like to fight faded.