Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (15 page)

“Terrified,” she admitted, ignoring the choking pressure bearing down on her, the effort it took to admit her feelings. “Because I need you, Grant. I mean, I need your help. I didn’t realize how much until you walked away and I thought you might never return.”

He lifted a hand as if he wanted to reach for her, but instead he gripped it into a fist and shoved it back down at his side. His gaze moved away from hers.

“Why would you want a coward?”

She started. “I never thought you were a coward,” she said softly and she did what he would not. Reaching for him, she curled her fingers around his clenched fist and held tight. He looked at her hand covering his, then his gaze moved to her face.

She swallowed. “I—I know about that night a year ago, Grant,” she whispered. “I know there was a woman. I know she died. And that is why you’ve been struggling. That is why the War Department is hesitant in making new assignments for you. Why they pushed you to follow me on a fool’s errand.”

He lurched and she felt his fist grip tighten beneath her fingers. She clung to him so he wouldn’t back away, lifting his hand to her chest and pressing it against her pounding heart.

“Please, Grant. There are very few details available. I want to hear the truth from you. Will you tell me what happened?”

Grant could hardly breathe as the room began to swim, the walls crowding in around him. It almost felt like Emily’s touch was the only thing keeping him upright as the past he had so desperately tried to convince himself was not affecting him came pounding up behind him.

There was nowhere left to run.

“Grant,” she whispered and he found a point of focus in the startling ice blue of her eyes. A place that seemed safe. “You can trust me.”

He found himself nodding at her promise. Yes, he could trust her. That fact was becoming increasingly clear the more time he spent with her. Grant had never worked well with partners, but Emily was…different somehow.

And he owed her the truth since it colored everything between them. Perhaps once she understood, she would abandon the case and let him take over.

He cleared his throat and began. “Davina Russell was her name. The woman. She was a gentleman’s daughter, though not a peer. I met her through her father, who had assisted me many times through his shipping business. Over time, she and I developed a friendship. And then more than a friendship.”

Emily’s face twitched ever so slightly and a shadow crossed through her eyes. But she didn’t interrupt. Of that, he was relieved. He wasn’t sure he could continue with the story once he stopped.

“I kept the true nature of my profession a secret from her for many months, but one evening she overheard me talking to her father.” He bit back a curse. “I was foolish, overconfident. I should have been more aware of my environment, of where she was, but I was too intent on my case.”

“The case concerning the arms shipments?” she asked softly.

“Yes. The one involving Cullen Leary.” He shook his head. “I shall never forget her face when she found me after that meeting.”

Emily whispered, “She was afraid?”

He barked out a laugh as he pulled his hand from hers. “I wish she had been. No, she was practically coming out of her skin and talking so quickly that it took me a moment before I realized what she knew.”

“You must have been upset.”

He nodded. “You know as well as I do that a spy’s secret is all that protects him and those he loves. But she wouldn’t listen to me. She kept going on about the romance and the adventure. And then she said she wanted to go with me that night.”

“An untrained woman?” Emily gasped.

He turned away. “She was talking about wearing her brother’s clothing, hiding in the background to watch. I said no, of course. I brushed her off. I should have told her father, but I was too anxious to get to my business. I assumed she would take my word as law.”

He felt Emily’s eyes on him as he paced across the room. He was as trapped as a tiger at an exhibition. Trapped by the past. Trapped by his mistakes. By his stupidity and cockiness.

“The meeting went wrong, a fight erupted. Shots rang out. Several of the villains I was pursuing were killed when other agents came in to assist. A few were captured, the rest fled.” He choked on the words, knowing what he had to say next and dreading it. “When the bodies were being accounted for, I found her. She had followed me without my knowledge and was caught in the crossfire.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he saw was the image of Davina’s lifeless eyes, staring up at him. Accusing him. He remembered dropping to his knees and howling out his rage and frustration and horror. He remembered carrying her, blindly screaming for a doctor.

He remembered the looks of pity on his fellow spies’ faces.

The pain was so powerful that his body had cut it away. Protected him from feeling it, except in moments of weakness when it rushed back to nearly make him double over.

Like now.

“Grant, breathe.”

Emily’s soft whisper dragged him back to the present. He spun on her, looking at her, holding her stare so that he wouldn’t go back to that dark place again.

“It was horrible,” he admitted.

She stepped toward him. “Did you—” she cut herself off.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He was surprised when the stain of a blush colored her cheeks. She hardly ever flushed like that and he’d never seen her do it out of self-consciousness.

“It is none of my affair, forgive me.”

“Emily.” He stepped toward her and put a finger beneath her chin. Lifting her face toward his, he murmured, “It is your affair. I don’t want you to have questions.”

She swallowed, her throat working with the motion. “Did you love her?”

Grant let his hand drop to his side. He had expected many questions, but not that one. He pondered it for a long moment.

“I cared for her deeply. I was attracted to her vitality and spirit. The very same things that led to her death.” He sighed. “I probably would have married her. And she loved me. Afterward, I realized how much power that emotion gave my enemies. I knew then that I could never mix love with my work. Could never love a woman while I remained a spy. It was simply too dangerous. It wasn’t worth the price.”

Emily turned her face, breaking the intense eye contact they’d been sharing. She looked at the fireplace, but her stare was distant as she nodded. Grant tilted his head to look at her face. She had closed herself off from him, he couldn’t read her emotions now. What did she think of him? Of his confession?

“Emily, that is why the thought of you going back into The Blue Pony and seeking Cullen Leary out is so horrifying to me,” he said as he reached for her.

He cupped her chin, tilting her face up until she could not avoid his gaze. Her eyes widened, darkened. Even now she wasn’t immune to his touch. As he wasn’t to hers.

“If something happened to you—” He cut himself off, unable to finish the thought or sentence.

“Grant,” she whispered as she lifted her mouth.

He hesitated for a fraction of a moment. If he touched his lips to hers, he knew where it would lead. To another night of passion in the arms of a woman who courted the kind of danger he had just described. But being in Emily’s embrace had become too much of a temptation to resist.

Slowly, he dropped his mouth, taking his time to brush his lips to hers until she let out a little sigh. Only then did he deepen the kiss, tasting her lips, inhaling her strawberry essence until he felt her in every inch of his body. The troubling guilt, the painful memories, they faded into the background, forgotten as driving need replaced them.

Emily’s arms came around his neck. She clung to him, her kisses growing desperate, heated. Any control Grant still exerted was shattered as she circled her tongue around his own.

With a growl he backed her up, pushing with his much bigger body until her back hit the door.

She was already clawing at his wrinkled shirt, tugging the buttons open with an urgency that matched his own. Her mouth met his in a collision of lips and tongues that jarred his overheated senses and had his thick fingers struggling with the buttons of her gown. Somehow he managed to part the delicate fabric, tugging it over her hips until it pooled at her feet. She was already yanking his shirt away, tossing it aside.

He bent his head, shoving her chemise down and suckling a hard nipple between his lips. Her fingernails cut into his back as she let out a muted groan that seemed to echo through him and fray his ragged control all the more. Without breaking the contact of his mouth or the rhythm of his swirling tongue, Grant grasped her backside and lifted.

Emily’s legs came around his hips as her fingers threaded into his hair and tugged him even closer. She rocked against him, the heat of her ready body piercing the fabric of his trousers and setting him right at the edge of madness.

Somehow he managed to unfasten his breeches, push them away, free the aching erection that was so insistent. And then he was sliding inside, pushing home into the welcoming clench of her wetness. He fitted himself to the hilt and for a moment the world came to a stop. Emily met his eyes, but he didn’t move. The only sound around them was the panting gasps of their matched breath. The faint crackle of the fire.

Her fingers unclenched from his hair and she stroked his face with one trembling hand. At the touch of her soft skin against the rough stubble at his jaw, he shut his eyes.

“Grant,” her low voice made him look at her again. Her face was tense, waiting. She cupped his cheek. “I need you.”

Grant’s eyes widened and the quiet moment they had been sharing came to an end as he smashed his mouth back to Emily’s. His hips pulled back and he thrust into her, pinning her against the door. She gasped at the utterly wicked feel of him inside her, filling her, stroking into her with long, hard thrusts.

The mounting wave of pleasure built inside her body, throbbing insistently between her legs. Every time he filled her, the ache grew more powerful. The need spiraled higher. Spiraled out of control. Until finally she arched up, reaching for the pinnacle and found it.

An explosion of sensation followed and her body rocked out of control. She clutched Grant’s shoulders, fighting for purchase as her vision blurred with pleasure and her limbs shook with release.

Grant’s hands tightened around her backside, his neck strained with the pleasure, and with a roar, he pulled from her body and exploded.

Grant’s back relaxed as he rested his forehead in the crook of her shoulder. Emily stroked her fingers through his damp hair, unable to stifle a shiver when he pressed his lips against her throat for a heated kiss.

“My God,” he groaned as he slowly slid them down the door to a heap on the floor. He covered her with his body, his dark eyes boring into hers. “I cannot get enough of you.”

As his mouth came down, Emily shut her eyes and surrendered to his lips yet again.

According to the dictates of their bargain, according to his vows not to mix love and risk, this passion might be all they ever shared. And though those boundaries were ones she knew were necessary, she still felt a sting she would never admit to. Not to anyone.

T
he afternoon sun had long ago faded into evening. Only a dying fire lit Grant’s chamber now, sending sparkling light across the bed where Emily lay in his arms. She sighed as she traced her fingertips up and down the coils of hard muscle that rippled along his forearm.

Her body felt heavy and relaxed. More calm than it had in many months. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to
think
. Except she had to. The peace she had found here in Grant’s home, down in his parlor and then here in his bed…that was fleeting.

“What is it?”

Emily started as she tilted her face to look up at him. He was propped up against the pillows, watching her. How could he know something was troubling her? How could he already be so attuned to her moods and emotions? The idea was rather terrifying, actually. No one, certainly no man, had ever gotten so close.

She threaded her fingers through his, looking at the sight. His hand was so much bigger than hers, darker from time spent outside without gloves. Yet they seemed to fit perfectly.

“Emily?”

Shaking off her troubling thoughts, Emily swallowed hard. What she was going to say would certainly shatter the mood.

“I understand now why you are so hesitant to allow me to go into the line of fire during this case,” she began, choosing every word carefully.

She studied his expression as she spoke, watching as he flinched every so slightly, then masked the reaction. Her heart sank. He was using training tactics against her.

“And?” His voice was deceptively calm.

“And I appreciate your candor about a time in your past that is clearly painful and difficult.” She traced her fingers along his jaw and was pleased that his expression softened. “Grant, I know how the past can cut so deep.”

Oh, how she knew that.

“However, that does not change the fact that we are investigating a potentially deadly plot against the Prince Regent. We cannot allow our fears, our pasts, to keep us from doing out duty. If we do, we will be just as incapable of service as our respective superiors have labeled us.”

Grant’s breath left his lungs in a long-suffering, frustrated sigh. He lolled his head back on the pillows and stared up at the canopy over the bed for such a long time that Emily began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. Until he let out a low curse.

“I know you’re correct, but damn it, Emily! Am I to just stand by and allow you to put yourself in danger? To let you get shot again? To watch you die? I swore I would never put another woman in that position.”

Frustration wracked her as she flipped the covers aside and clamored out of the bed. She yanked up the first article of clothing she could find, Grant’s massive dressing gown, and wrapped it around her body. The fabric dragged along the ground behind her as she paced.

“Why do you assume any of those things would happen?”

“I’ve seen what men like Cullen Leary can do—” he began, sitting up to watch her restless movements.

She spun on him, lifting one hand up while she held the robe in place with the other. “You think I have not? Dear God, Grant, I didn’t just start this spying business last week. It isn’t some whim I’m pursuing like needlework or horsemanship. It is my profession and I have been as thoroughly trained as you have been. I have encountered vile traitors in my work, I have seen death. I have experienced pain. I think I, of all people, am fully aware of all the dangers our profession involves.”

Her hand came down to cover her side reflexively and Grant winced at the reminder of her attack. Now she understood why. She also realized he might never accept that she was capable of protecting herself. It was yet another reason why they couldn’t have a future beyond this heated affair.

She shoved her hands down to her sides and tried to temper her tone. “Sometimes regular life involves dangers just as treacherous as what we encounter in investigations. A missed step in a busy street, a wrong turn into a darkened alley, a marriage to the wrong man…those things can bring pain and death just as quickly. And more often do. So I will not hide from the life I’ve chosen. And I won’t allow you to shield me from it as some kind of penance for a dead woman.”

Grant stared at her for a long while, his face unreadable in the low firelight. Emily’s chest began to tighten as she waited for his response. What if he refused her? What if, even after all they’d shared, he could not move past his hesitations and allow her to fully participate in the investigation?

“I’m not Davina, Grant,” she whispered as one final plea.

He jolted at that comment and he looked at her. Really looked at her. “No,” he finally said softly. “You aren’t.”

A sting worked its way through Emily at the quiet comment. Yes, it was one she had encouraged, but to hear him say it in that tone made a queer ache burrow deep into her very soul. This man who vowed he would not love while he was a spy and, by simple deduction, would never love a spy, especially one of her background, had cared for Davina Russell.

As for Emily, well, he was willing to have her body, but he could not ask for her heart.

Ridiculous! How could she dare be jealous of that fact? No. She had made the rules for this affair and now she had to stop being a ninny and stick with them. She didn’t
want
Grant’s love.

“What happened in your marriage?”

Grant’s question made Emily stumble back. “What?”

“I told you about Davina.” He held her gaze. “Now tell me about Seth Redgrave.”

Emily swallowed hard. Tell him her deepest pain? No, she couldn’t do that. “Wh-Why now?”

He cocked his head at her sharp, shrill tone and the, no-doubt, horrified expression on her face. She cursed her emotional outburst.

“You mentioned a bad marriage can be a threat to a woman as much as a life as a spy,” he explained, watching her but not making any move to exit the bed and approach her. Of that, she was glad. “And that comment seemed more personal than the others. So I wondered what could have happened in your marriage for you to make such a comparison.”

Emily shut her eyes, closing out his image as easily as she wished she could shut out the memories Grant’s question evoked. Carefully she numbed herself, and when she opened her eyes again, she was able to shrug off the question as if it was utterly unimportant.

“You are trying to change the subject.” She was pleased her tone was utterly cool. Controlled. “And I won’t allow it. We’re talking about my abilities as a spy. And our ability to work together. What have you to say on that score?”

Grant’s lips thinned with displeasure and she could see he was debating whether to push her on her past. To her relief, he did not. Still, the spark of interest remained in his eyes and she had no doubt he would return to the subject of her late husband, of the life she led before coming to work for Lady M. Next time she would have to be prepared.

Grant sighed. “This morning I received word that Cullen Leary does have a room at the boardinghouse beside The Blue Pony.”

Her relief doubled as she realized he was saying he was willing to continue working together, despite his misgivings about her safety.

“Then perhaps we should begin our search for evidence and an explanation there,” she said. “Rather than the more direct route of approaching Leary. If we can avoid dangerous contact with him and still uncover the evidence we need, it would be the better choice.”

Grant visibly relaxed at her capitulation. “If Leary follows his normal schedule, he’ll be out most of tomorrow evening. It would be the perfect time for us to make a search.”

Emily moved back toward the bed, holding out a hand. Grant grasped it and pulled it to his lips. For the moment, they had made a truce. Even if she feared it was fleeting, considering all the barriers between them.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Grant,” she said softly. “I hope you’ll learn that tomorrow.”

He didn’t answer, just pulled her closer, clasping his hand behind her head to draw her down to his lips.

Grant’s shoulders flexed beneath his greatcoat as he worked at the flimsy lock on Cullen Leary’s door. Emily watched his focused expression by the light of the candle she held in the darkened hallway, noting how absolutely driven he appeared. For the moment, this investigation was the most important thing in his life.

When he was able to work past his feelings about Davina Russell, focus on their case instead of Emily’s safety, he truly was a gifted spy.

Davina Russell. Emily frowned. Why did the woman’s name have to stir such a foolish jealousy? She’d tried to ignore the emotion, then justify it, then dismiss it yesterday, but it had only grown since she slipped from Grant’s home in the wee hours of the morning. She’d gone to a fitful sleep thinking of the other woman. Awoken to thoughts of the same.

And that didn’t even begin to explore the conflicted feelings Grant had inspired with his questions about her marriage. Memories of Seth Redgrave always tore her apart. Yet, she almost regretted not confessing the truth about her ugly marriage to Grant, baring her soul to him as he had when he told her the truth about Davina. If only to see his response to her ugly past. To all the painful secrets he didn’t know about her, could never know.

Would his reaction have proven all her fears to be valid? Or would he have surprised her, just as he always seemed to surprise her? Now she would never know.

“A little to the left, please,” Grant murmured.

She started, refocusing on her duty and shaking thoughts of memories best forgotten and jealousies best left ignored.

“Aha!” Grant cast her a side glance filled with pride. “There.”

The catch clicked open. Grant pocketed his lock pick and swung the door open, ushering her in before he shut and latched it behind them.

Emily lifted her candle to cast a faint glow around the tiny room. It was a bedchamber by only the barest description. A narrow, uncomfortable bed was in one corner, with a small bed stand beside it. A chair was across the room, in front of a little writing table that was also apparently used for dining, judging by the empty plates stacked on the corner.

The room would have been entirely average…if not for the papers. Thousands of papers, scattered everywhere. Stacked by the bedside, piled beside the soiled cutlery on the table, even beneath the chair.

Grant let out a curse that Emily couldn’t help but agree with. “We’ll never find a bloody thing in this mess,” he growled.

She stepped toward the desk and set the candle down gingerly so not to set the entire mess of correspondence ablaze. “Nonsense. If Leary is working on something presently, it makes sense that he would review it here. Possibly while eating.” She motioned to the empty plates. “I say we begin searching the piles here.”

In the dim light, she saw Grant arch a brow. “You are probably correct. Let us begin, then.”

He reached for a pile and Emily took another. They flipped through the sheets, each scanning over the words. Emily was disappointed by the contents. Bills from creditors were mixed with letters from Leary’s sister in Ireland. And alongside those items were bawdy stories printed on cheap paper with runny ink. Nothing out of the ordinary caught her attention.

They stood side by side, close together so that they could share the light. Emily felt the warmth coming from Grant’s body. Somehow it made her feel…safer. More secure. Like the fear that had been haunting her was dulled.

She frowned. That would not do.

“Here,” Grant’s low voice, laced with excitement, interrupted her musings. He held out a letter written on thick paper. “This might be something.”

Emily leaned toward the candle, letting the light filter over the heavy script. All she could make out were seemingly random letters. Not in any words she understood, certainly.

“Do you think it’s code?” Grant asked quietly.

She scanned the sheet, but couldn’t detect a pattern in the text. “Hard to say. Ana has always been the talent when it came to encryption. But I can say that the hand is very neat, thorough. It isn’t like these other missives Leary has written.” She held up a half-finished letter to his family. It was almost illegible, both in handwriting and content.

“You’re right,” Grant mused. “This is the hand of an educated man.”

He pondered the paper for a moment, then motioned to the pocket of Emily’s pelisse. “Take it.”

Emily hesitated. “Leary might notice it’s missing.”

Grant look around the room with an incredulous frown. “I don’t know how he’d notice anything out of place in this mess. But even if he does, he won’t know who took it. And this is the only potential lead we’ve uncovered. Take it.”

Emily folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. She lifted the candle and was about to take a pile of paperwork from beneath it when the door rattled. Emily froze, her gaze skirting to Grant.

“Blow it out,” he growled as he shifted himself in front of her. “And move toward the window.”

She didn’t argue. Though her chest was tightening and it was hard to draw breath, she managed to puff the candle out. With trembling limbs, she crossed the room and opened the window. A blast of icy air poured in, chilling her skin, but she hardly noticed the cold. The rattle of the door became louder and suddenly a harsh, echoing voice rumbled from outside.

“Damn key!”

Cullen Leary. Emily reached for Grant’s arm, her fingers digging into his coat.

“P-Please,” she stammered, hating the terror that was so clear in her voice. “We must go.”

Grant shook his head and his expression was so blank and angry and distant that it frightened her. The collected spy was gone, replaced by the raging, out-of-control warrior she’d seen the night at The Blue Pony.

“I want him.”

“No,” she murmured, pulling at him. “We can’t fight him. Not here. Not like this. Please, please, Grant, just come with me.”

He hesitated a fraction, but then allowed her to drag him toward the window. She looked down. The street wasn’t very far below and the wide awning about six feet down could easily be used as a first landing spot before a drop to the sidewalk. She had one foot out on the window ledge when the door flew open, filling the room with sickly, yellow light from the hall.