Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (14 page)

She nodded.

Devlin continued, “When men work together on projects of secrecy and delicacy like his lordship and I have done, it sometimes brings them together as friends.”

Meredith covered a wince. How she hated the implications of Devlin’s seemingly innocuous statement. Projects of secrecy and delicacy. Like treachery against the Crown? And the idea of Tristan calling this man
friend
turned her stomach.

“I can see how that would happen,” she said carefully. “But I don’t understand how it involves me.”

“Men talk, my lady. And Lord Carmichael told me long ago that your hand had already been claimed. By him.” Devlin watched her, and she fought to keep a reaction from her face. “I think
everyone here has seen the two of you grow closer since our arrival in Carmichael, but just because two people find common interests does not mean there is a true bond between them. So tell me, my lady, is my
friend
using a lie to discourage me from pressing my own suit, or are you merely being coy about your intentions?”

Meredith fought to draw breath. Telling Devlin there was no union of any kind between herself and Tristan would allow her to gauge his reaction to Tristan’s lie. It could enlighten her to just how close the men were, how deeply they were entangled. And giving Devlin hope that she might one day welcome his vile attentions could also open doors in this and future investigations.

Her thoughts drifted to the letter she had not been able to intercept. To the threats Devlin made the night she hid in his chambers. Revealing Tristan as a liar would surely put him in greater danger.

She blushed as she turned her face. “My, you are very forward, Mr. Devlin.”

“I am sorry, my dear. Normally I wouldn’t speak so boldly, but I do have both a personal and business stake in whether or not Carmichael is lying to me.”

She allowed him a shy glance. “I was merely surprised by your knowledge. I did not know Tristan spoke of our…relationship, even to his
closest friends. It has been a secret shared between only us until now. But he has not lied to you, Mr. Devlin.”

Devlin’s eyebrow arched. “I cannot pretend not to be disappointed that my own hopes for a chance at such a fine lady’s heart would be dashed.”

She forced a playful laugh even as bile burned her throat at the mere thought of such a thing. “I doubt you’ll mourn the loss for long. Certainly there are many ladies here and in London who would happily fill the void.”

Devlin caught her hand. Her pulse quickened with momentary fear as he lifted it to drop a brief kiss on top. Though she wore gloves, she could have sworn she felt the chill of his lips even through the kid. It seemed to seep through to her very bones, and she fought the urge to yank her hand away.

“I appreciate that, my lady,” he said with a wink.

She opened her mouth to reply, hoping to press for information now that he was more comfortable with her, but before she could, she felt a hand grasp her wrist.

She turned as Tristan pulled her away from Devlin for a second time in a few short days and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He glared at Devlin with a look that reminded Meredith just how dangerous he could be. His touch reminded her of other things too.

Desire.

“Meredith,” he ground out through clenched teeth, though he hardly looked at her. “I would dearly love to steal you away for a moment, if you can bear to be parted from Mr. Devlin.”

With a glance from the corner of her eye for Devlin, she said, “Of course. Good afternoon, Mister—”

But Tristan was already dragging her along the garden path toward the house and whatever awaited her there. Judging from the anger evident in his sparkling gaze and tight lips, it would not be pleasant.

T
ristan slammed the parlor door and spun on Meredith. Before he could say anything, she yanked her arm free and stomped across the room.

“I grow tired of these antics, Tristan. You cannot simply demand my presence whenever you desire it. And you certainly have no right to drag me off like I’m a puppet to be controlled!”

Tristan drew in a few deep breaths as he watched her pace in front of the fire. Her eyes flashed brighter than the flames, and he was drawn to her heat. Yet, he couldn’t help but picture her with Devlin. Her hand had been in his. She hadn’t seemed to be trying to withdraw it.

Could Philip be right?
Was
she a part of the elaborate tests Devlin delighted in putting him through to prove his allegiance? And if she was, could he trust anything she said and did, whether in his parlor or his bed?

He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the image of Devlin and Meredith together, and the lies she might be telling. When she touched him, he felt her sincerity, her desire, her need in every part of his soul, and he would have to trust that feeling a little while longer.

“I was having a private discussion, Tristan,” Meredith continued.

Her statement snapped his attention back. “With a dangerous man. I have told you of Augustine Devlin’s character too many times to count!” He drew in a breath to calm himself. “Please, Meredith, believe I’m only trying to protect you.”

Her lips thinned and she searched his face with eyes that saw too deeply into his soul. He longed to turn away, but she had already snared him, there was no escape now.

“Is that why you told the man we were involved in some kind of affair before that was true?”

Shock tightened Tristan’s throat. Meredith’s expression begged an explanation, but there was anger along with the hope. Dear God, what had Devlin told her?

Carefully, he cleared the emotions from his
face. It was best not to jump too quickly to tell her any information.

“What I told him or did not tell him is not at issue, Meredith,” he insisted. She gave a gasp of exasperation. “The point is that Devlin is a villain. I don’t want you to involve yourself with him in any way.”

“If he is such a villain, then why in the name of all that is holy have you aligned yourself with him?” She shook her head. “You’ve told me again and again that he is treacherous, yet you continue to do business with him. You invited him into your home. You have brought him close to your family, Tristan! A man who could and would destroy—”

She broke the sentence off and turned away suddenly. Tristan cocked his head. Her passionate plea went further than he expected. Almost as if she truly understood how desperate and dangerous a man Devlin was.

Yet, despite his growing doubts, Tristan found himself longing to explain. Not give another excuse for why he continued to work with Devlin, not lie as he had been lying for so long.

He wanted to tell her the truth. To tell her everything that had brought him from where he started to this dark and lonely place. Perhaps she would understand what drove him to such lengths. Perhaps he would find the forgiveness he constantly sought in her arms.

She turned back, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He couldn’t tell her. Doing so would endanger her. And beyond that, if he admitted the truth, she might turn away in horror. He didn’t want to lose her. Even if she wasn’t really his.

“There are things I am unable to explain,” he whispered. “Complications.”

She let out a disappointed sigh as her head dipped. Her frustration was clear in the way her shoulders slumped, her fists curled at her sides, the way she kept her gaze focused away from him. It was almost as if she already knew his lies.

But no. That was his own conscience pulling at him.

She continued to stare at the floor. “Very well, you cannot tell me why you continue to affiliate with Devlin. But you
must
explain why you chose to share information about me—about us—with him. I have a right to know.”

Tristan searched her face. What portion of the truth would ease her concerns without opening more confusion?

Drawing in a breath, he said, “Devlin came to me the second day of this soiree, expressing an interest in you. He hoped I would have some insight into how to pursue you since we had a previous relationship.”

She folded her arms as she gave a little nod of encouragement. “And?”

“With his reputation, I recognized he wasn’t the
kind of man who would take no for an answer.” He hesitated. “If you refused his suit, he might take revenge. If you encouraged it, you would expose yourself to his less savory qualities. Either way, allowing him to believe he had a chance to woo you put you in danger.”

Her arms remained folded like a shield in front of her chest. Tristan frowned. He hated to see her so guarded, especially when she protected herself against him. After the pleasure and passion they had shared, he hated losing the light of desire in her eyes, and hated even more that it was replaced with wariness.

She thought about his statement for a moment. “So you staked a false claim on me in order to what? Protect me? You believed Devlin wouldn’t pursue me if he thought you already had a place in my heart?”

He nodded. “If Devlin believed pursuing you would disrupt our business, he wouldn’t take the risk.”

Hurt momentarily flickered in her eyes before she turned her face. “And is that why you pursued me? To maintain that facade? Is that why you took me to your bed? To complete some charade?”

Tristan didn’t hesitate. In three long steps, he crossed the distance between them and caught her elbow, breaking the shield she’d put up with her arms and forcing her to look into his eyes.

The hurt was still on her face, though she fought to cover it. He had to take it away.

“No,” he said firmly. “Even when I told myself I was only pursuing you for your own protection, that was a lie. I turned to you, I pursued you, because I wanted you. I wanted the falsehood I told Devlin to become the truth.”

Her lips parted with surprise.

“Each time I kissed you it was because I could no longer deny myself the pleasure of your touch,” he continued. The room around them was rapidly shrinking, growing hotter as he pulled her close. “And when you came to my room and offered yourself to me, I did not make love to you for any other reason than I wished to claim you.”

“Tristan,” she whispered.

“Whatever is between us is real. It has nothing to do with Augustine Devlin.”

He realized just how close he had drawn her. Her breath stirred his throat and every trembling movement of her body rocked through him.

He also realized if he touched her now there was nothing in this world to stop him. He wanted to taste her, touch her, make her his.

He cupped the nape of her neck and her mouth parted, eyes widened.

“Tristan,” she began. Her voice trembled. “But I—”

He cut her off before she could deny him, dropping his mouth to hers. If she’d been planning to
protest, the words were lost, as was the sentiment. Almost immediately, her fingers threaded through his hair and she returned the kiss with as much heat and need as he gave.

He moved her, step by step, until her back touched the wall. She murmured an endearment, but it was lost against his lips. Her hips tilted, colliding with his and sending powerful sparks of pleasure and awareness through his body. He moaned, control fading as the balm of her kiss drove out any harsh thought or fears that tormented him.

He lost himself in her, stroking his tongue along the roof of her mouth, tasting the warm honeyed sweetness of her lips. As it was every time they kissed, he longed to memorize her taste, along with the little mewling sounds of pleasure that came from her throat. He wanted to remember every moment just in case it was the last they shared.

She seemed as desperate to imprint his body on hers. As if she, too, recognized the ending to these stolen hours could be around the next bend. He wondered, faintly, why. Was it because he had told her there was no promise for a future? Or something more?

And then it didn’t matter as her fingers slipped to his shirt buttons and she began to glide them open. All that mattered then was the way her fingernails gently raked his skin in her haste, the
echo of her panting breath as she broke the kiss to look at her work.

She yanked at the buttons, finally tearing enough open to bare his chest. Her mouth surged up as her fingers dove inside to touch the flesh she revealed.

Meredith couldn’t hold back her little sigh of pleasure as her fingers touched Tristan’s hot skin. He felt so good, and she wanted more. She couldn’t get enough, even though she’d spent the past three nights in his bed. Touching him now was just like the first time, filled with electric excitement.

He wasn’t immune to the wracking desire either. That was clear by his growl when she slid a hand over his chest, by the way he rocked his hips against her. She let her eyes flutter shut and savored every sensation. Wet heat flooded her, readying her for the inevitable.

Tristan would make her his. She would surrender willingly—again. She would forget for a few moments why she had been sent to Carmichael, and those few moments would be the happiest of her recollection.

After…well, she didn’t have to think about that. Not when Tristan was moving against her, working at the little buttons that held the front of her own gown in place. She arched toward his fingers, gasping when they slipped in their work and brushed her aching breasts.

Finally, he managed to free the last remaining button that separated her from heaven and pushed her gown away from her shoulders. As it drooped at her waist, he caught her for another deep, promise-filled kiss.

Wickedness filled her at the pleasure of his touch, and she couldn’t help but surrender to it. Slowly, she brushed her breasts back and forth against his chest. The beads of her nipples tightened beneath her chemise at the friction of silk against skin.

Tristan groaned even as he cupped her backside and lifted her, rubbing the apex of her thighs against his impressive erection. She dipped her head back with a little cry as he kissed her throat.

Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard a sound, but desire clouded her senses. Her whole world was Tristan, there was no room for anything but his musky male scent, the brush of his skin, the heat of his mouth. Nothing else mattered.

Except the damn noise that was so insistent. The fog around her drifted away and the world came into clearer focus. The noise was a voice. The voice was a woman’s. The woman was Lady Constance Carmichael.

Meredith’s heart, which had been pounding with the force of her desire, now threatened to
come to a complete stop as she turned her head. Lady Carmichael stood in the entryway to the parlor, cheeks flushed with high color as she said her son’s name once again.

“Tristan,” Meredith hissed, tapping his shoulder and trying to forget how good his mouth felt trailing down her throat to where her pulse throbbed. “Tristan!”

He lifted his head, and before he could say the sinful things she guessed were in his mind, he saw her expression. He followed it behind him to where Constance now tried to cover her eyes.

Immediately, he released Meredith, steadying her before he turned and used his body as a shield while she fumbled to yank her dress back up over her shoulders and rebutton what he had taken so much pleasure in removing.

“Mother!” he gasped, his cheeks filling with blood. Dear God, was he
blushing
? It was an untenable situation.

“I—I’m sorry,” his mother stammered, refusing to meet his gaze. He wasn’t sure if that was for her sake or his own, or because Meredith was still struggling to dress. “Lord Farthingworth was asking about your new mare. When I couldn’t find you, I was told you were seen going into the house, so I followed.”

Tristan glanced down to see that his own shirt was still unbuttoned, yanked from his trousers.
He went about refastening it as he tried to find a way to explain himself.

“Ah,” was all he could come up with as a reply.

“I’m terribly sorry,” his mother said, peeking at him from the corner of her eye.

She seemed relieved he had covered himself, and even more so when Meredith slipped out from behind him. Her gown was wrinkled and slightly crooked, but fastened nonetheless. She had even managed to salvage her hair, or at least repair it somewhat. Despite that, she still looked like a woman who was on her way to being well-pleasured. The fact that he had not completed that quest was a rousing disappointment.

“No, my lady,” Meredith said, her voice little more than a husky whisper. Tristan turned on her in shock. He had never heard her like that before. Shamed. Awkward.

Worse, he had caused it. The situation he created with his out-of-control desire had caused it. Guilt tore at him.

“It is I who should apologize for—for—” Meredith motioned around her awkwardly. “I apologize. Excuse me.”

Without a backward glance for either mother or son, she rushed to the door and into the hallway, leaving Tristan alone with his mother. He looked at her, watching her expression change now that they were alone. A little twinkle replaced the
shock in her stare, and a smile began to twitch at the corners of her lips.

He was in trouble. The kind there was no getting out of.

Meredith covered her hot cheeks as she raced away from the parlor toward the main stair. She had to get to her room, away from the crowd, from Constance…from Tristan and the touch that seemed to mesmerize her and control her. No man had ever had that power over her.

But a potential traitor did! What was wrong with her?

His touch—no, her
need
for that touch—drove her to nearly make love to the man in the middle of the afternoon in a front parlor, for heaven’s sake! Her training had no dictates for such activities, but it seemed even someone with just good common sense would have at least checked the door before they started tearing clothing off in surrender.

But her mind had been so addled, so clouded with lust, she hadn’t even paused to consider the risks.
She,
who always analyzed each circumstance so carefully.
She,
who never forgot herself, even in the most emotional of situations.