Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (17 page)

Grant had kissed her so many times that Emily had nearly lost count. The kisses had claimed. They had seduced. They had melted her defenses.

But this kiss was something entirely different. It was filled with apologies. The desire was there but it was tempered by something…more. And she wasn’t sure whether to cling to that or run from it.

Grant didn’t allow her to choose. It was he who pulled back. His eyes were wild as he stared down at her, his face just inches from hers. Filled with a flicker of the same intense anguish she’d seen when he told her about Davina.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered and his voice cracked. “When I looked down at you on the pavement, I thought—” He broke off and struggled for words and Emily found herself leaning forward in anticipation. “I couldn’t help but think of Davina and that night a year ago. Think it was all playing over again.”

Emily frowned and the pain in her skull intensified. So all those strong emotions she saw on Grant’s face, they were more about his memories than her. More about reliving the pain of Davina’s loss than her own. That stung.

She pushed those emotions aside. It was just as well. She didn’t
want
him to care.

“Grant,” she said, reaching up to touch his shoulder to offer him comfort. Dampness met her fingertips and she yanked her hand back in surprise. Red blood slashed across her hand.

“You’re injured,” she cried, ignoring the jolting pain in her head as she bolted upright to look closer. His coat had been cut.

He caught her shoulders and gently urged her back. “It’s a scratch, nothing more.”

“You must see Adam,” she insisted, her heart throbbing in time to her pounding head. “You mustn’t leave it be.”

He nodded. “I’ll go to him right now, I swear to you. I only wanted to see you first.”

Her words died on her lips at that admission. “Oh.”

A tension-filled silence hung between them for a long moment before Grant leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Later,” he whispered close to her ear. His voice was rough, ragged. “Later, I will show you how much your safety means to me. But for now, sleep. Sleep.”

Emily swallowed hard as she watched him back from the room. Once he was gone, she stared up at the ceiling high above. If nothing else, Grant still wanted her. His last words had been a sensual promise and her body, despite her injuries, responded to that.

And yet it seemed…hollow somehow.

She groaned. How could she sleep when so many confusing thoughts swirled inside of her? When she knew Grant was just a few doors away?

But sleep came. And she woke only once to find not Grant beside her bed, but a woman. Lady Westfield, watching over her.

E
mily straightened the skirt of the gown that had been laid out for her, smoothing it over her legs reflexively, though not a wrinkle marred the silky fabric. It was one of Grant’s sister’s, probably, left behind after her recent marriage. It was a few seasons out of fashion and a little loose on Emily’s more slender frame, but very pretty nonetheless.

There was no reason to be standing, staring at herself in the mirror, but she hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve yet to move. Moving would mean going downstairs to face Grant. Even worse, it meant facing Lady Westfield. Certainly the Countess would have many, many questions for which there were few good answers. Emily had always liked Grant’s mother and loathed the idea that the proper lady might have lost respect or admiration for her.

There was nothing to be done about it. This was the bed she had made, now she would have to lie in it. That was the way of spies. There were always sacrifices to be made for King and Country.

She forced her legs to move and slowly made her way out the door and to the stairs. Her head still hurt from the fall, but she no longer felt nauseous and dizzy. There was a bruise on her temple, and beneath her gown, a few more purple marks marred her arms and legs, but that was the only evidence of her eventful evening.

Emily started, coming up sharp on the stairs as she saw Grant waiting for her in the foyer, leaning against the banister with an expression of anticipation in his dark stare.

“Moira said you were on your way down,” he said softly as he swept his gaze over her from head to toe. Just as it always did, the appraisal made her tingle. And hope she fared well in his estimation.

“How is your shoulder?” she asked as she reached the bottom stair and took the elbow he offered.

“I told you, it was nothing more than a scratch.”

He patted her hand as they moved down the hallway toward the dining room. The heavenly scents of breakfast wafted into the hall and her stomach gave a rumble.

“What does your Mother think?”

She leaned up to whisper the question and was wooed by the faint scent of his skin. Clean and masculine and still able to make her want, even under the most trying of circumstances.

Grant shrugged and Emily noticed his subtle wince at the motion. A scratch, indeed.

“She asked questions, which I managed to avoid last night. This morning, she wondered aloud if it was some kind of accident in my carriage on the way home from a ball. A corner taken too fast that somehow cut my arm and caused you to bang your head. I didn’t deny that version of events.”

Emily’s forehead wrinkled and a shot of pain rushed through her. She shook it off. “Your mother actually believes that?”

Grant sighed. “She most likely does not, but I think that is what she wants us to say. She seems in no hurry to press the issue. I’m sure she guesses it has something to do with a delicate situation between us.”

The heat of blood rushed to Emily’s cheeks. So Lady Westfield had guessed something about the affair between them. But what kind of lovemaking would cause such injuries? The things Grant’s mother must think of her!

They reached the dining room doorway and Grant came to a stop. Before Emily could question him, he took her shoulders in each of his big hands and gently turned her to face him. Tilting up her chin, he pressed a kiss to her mouth. Immediately, Emily melted, grasping his forearms as she leaned into him. Dear God, he was like a drug.

When he pulled back, his eyes were glazed with much the same need as she felt.

“I wanted to do that before we were unable,” he said with a little cocky smile. Then he opened the dining room doorway and led her inside.

Emily forced her nervousness away as she peered around. Lady Westfield got to her feet from her position at the head of a long oak table that could seat twenty people at minimum. The beamed ceiling rose high above, decorated with finely painted images of cherubs and goddesses. A fire roared behind them in an enormous fireplace that seemed more at home in a medieval manor than a London estate. The room was massive, meant for dinners with kings, not informal breakfasts.

Despite the grandeur, there were two places laid on either side of Lady Westfield’s plate and she smiled expectantly, her warmth and welcome making the room less imposing.

“Good morning, Lady Allington,” she said as she moved around the table and took a step toward her. “I am pleased to see you looking so healthy after last night’s events.”

Emily released Grant’s arm and took the hand Lady Westfield offered. “Thank you, my lady. And thank you again for your hospitality last evening and again this morning. These are unusual circumstances, I know.”

A little smile quirked up the corner of the lady’s mouth as she squeezed Emily’s hand gently. “With my eldest son, I have grown accustomed to ‘unusual circumstances.’ Having you here is a pleasure regardless. Won’t you be seated and join me for breakfast?”

Grant helped Emily into the seat his mother indicated, then took the one across from her. As they each settled in, Emily took the opportunity to look at Lady Westfield. Her dark hair was run through with striking streaks of silver and her eyes were brown like her eldest son’s. They carried the same depth of emotion that he very seldom allowed Emily to see. There was a kindness in the lady’s eyes, but also a fierce intelligence. And a shrewdness, as well. With just one glance, she could tell that very little got past this woman.

Which was why Emily doubted Lady Westfield truly believed her injuries had been caused by a carriage accident. She and Grant would have to tread carefully if they didn’t want to trip over lies and bring his mother into what was potentially a deadly situation.

Judging from the look on Grant’s face, he knew the same. He looked like a man being sent to the gallows.

A few footmen arrived, bearing plates of steaming food that made Emily’s stomach growl anew. At least her appetite hadn’t been affected by her fall.

“How is your Ladies’ Aid Society, Lady Allington?” Lady Westfield asked with a smile for her as she scraped butter across a crispy slice of toasted bread. “Do you continue to meet regularly?”

Emily nodded. She and Meredith and Ana ran The Sisters of the Heart Society for Widows and Orphans. It was their cover as spies, but also a true charity guild that involved many of the most powerful women of the
ton
. However, only Meredith and Ana joined her for their most secret meetings.

“Yes, every week. We were unable to host as many charity events during my recent…” She broke off and shot a glance toward Grant. “My recent illness, but we hope to begin holding balls and soirees again to benefit the less fortunate in the spring when the new Season begins.”

“Yes, I heard of your illness. I’m very, very glad to see you are recovered now.”

Lady Westfield’s gaze fell to her again and this time it held. Emily found herself unable to turn from the woman’s stare and was surprised to see a flicker of real worry in her eyes. Of caring that seemed to go much deeper than the passing acquaintance they shared.

She felt
connected
to Lady Westfield, in truth. Because of…why? Almost against her will, her gaze shifted to Grant.

“Perhaps I shall attend one of your meetings,” Lady Westfield continued and looked away. Whatever tenuous bond had been there between them faded. Had Emily imagined it?

“W-we would dearly love your patronage, my lady,” Emily stammered as she tried to clear her mind of confusing thoughts. “If you would like, I shall send you word of our next meeting.”

Lady Westfield nodded. “Please do.”

“As if you need another diversion, Mama,” Grant said with a laugh. “You are always so busy. I hardly know how you sleep. In fact, after last night, I somehow doubt you do!”

Lady Westfield turned her stare on him, and laughter and love danced in her eyes. Emily’s heart lurched. She had never felt such warmth from her own parents. To them, she was a bitter, permanent reminder of a mistake. Her mother had been punished for it. Her father hated her for it.

How often had she wished for a mother like Grant’s? Perhaps that was why she felt a connection to the lady. Yes, that had to be the reason. It wasn’t Grant at all, merely her childhood fantasies.

“Whatever do you mean, Grant? Of course I sleep.”

He grinned. “It was quite late when Lady Allington and I, er,
called
on you, Mother, yet you were fully dressed as if you were expecting guests. And answering your own kitchen door, at that. Do tell, were you having secret meetings?”

Lady Westfield laughed, but Emily had a sudden memory that lurched from the fog of the previous night. A carriage pulling away from Lady Westfield’s home just as she and Grant arrived. Hadn’t she thought it was Charlie’s vehicle?

Or was that all part of a dream?

“You keep your secrets, my dear boy,” Lady Westfield said with a playful tap of her son’s nose. “And I shall keep mine.”

Emily was snapped from her worries by the unusual sound of Grant’s booming laughter. She stared. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked utterly relaxed and at peace.

He was so protective of his family, and she could see why. He adored his mother and she clearly felt the same for him. And he loved his brother, too, the only other member of the clan that Emily had officially met. They had a powerful bond that would never be broken.

Just as she did with Meredith and Ana. As he would for his family, she would do anything to keep her friends safe. To protect them. Even though she had judged them harshly for doing the same for her.

She sighed. Though they came from very different worlds, they still had the love of their families in common, whether by birth or design. And their investigative styles had meshed perfectly last night, their strengths and weaknesses combining with an ease she had never experienced, even with Meredith and Ana.

And yet, by the terms of the agreement they had made, their affiliation was bound to end. They had promised an affair to last the length of their investigation. And an investigation only to renew the strength of their individual reputations.

Grant didn’t want love. Or at least, he refused to seek it until he was no longer a spy for fear of endangering the woman in his life. After witnessing him in action last night, she knew he would be a spy for many years to come. Even if he wasn’t, she certainly wasn’t willing to surrender her profession like he would surely demand. It was all she had left.

Besides,
she
didn’t believe in love, or at least that love was in the cards for her. Those dreams had died long ago. Even before her husband removed his affection from her. Perhaps while she was still a girl, when she was reminded again and again that she was unworthy of even simple kindness.

Suddenly she mourned the loss of those dreams. Wouldn’t it be nice to hope that she and Grant could—

No! She couldn’t have him, so there was no use indulging in girlish fantasies.

“My lady, are you well?” Lady Westfield asked, pressing a hand over the one Emily now clenched on the table. “You are suddenly pale.”

Emily nodded slowly. “’Tis nothing,” she lied and refused to meet Grant’s worried stare.

“No, it is more than nothing,” he said softly. “You’re still tired from your injury. I should return you to your home where you can rest in your own bed. If you have finished your meal, we can depart right away.”

Emily nodded. It was a good idea to leave. Being with Grant and witnessing the love he felt for his family only made her long for things she could never have. The best thing for her would be to return home and pull herself together. Forget these foolish musings.

“Do forgive me, Lady Westfield,” she said as she got to her feet.

“Tosh!” Grant’s mother said as she moved to stand. “But I do hope you’ll return here another night and share a proper meal with our family.”

Emily drew back in surprise at the invitation. It was so utterly tempting and terrifying at once.

“I would very much like that, my lady,” she whispered, casting a quick glance at Grant to judge his reaction. If he had one, he didn’t reveal it in his expression.

“Very good, I shall send an invitation later in the week,” Lady Westfield said as she took Emily’s arm and led her to the foyer. She signaled for her son’s carriage to be brought around.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mother,” Grant said as he pressed a kiss against her cheek.

“Come back later, Grant.” His mother arched a brow. “I would like to speak to you.”

Emily winced. Lady Westfield couldn’t truly be satisfied with the lame excuse of a carriage accident. Especially since the carriage that was now pulling up the drive was entirely intact. Hopefully Grant could put her off the truth when he returned.

They said their good-byes and Grant helped her into the vehicle. Once they pulled away, Emily sank back into the seat with a relieved sigh.

“I am sorry my injury caused your mother to be involved in this,” she said as she covered her eyes with her hand. Her head throbbed anew.

Grant shrugged. “At present I think she is more interested in uncovering the truth about the relationship you and I are developing than how you came to be injured. I saw the matchmaking gleam in her eyes.”

Emily looked through her fingers at him. Again, his expression was utterly unreadable. Damn spies. This was why she’d never been involved with one in the past.

“What will you tell her?” she asked and immediately wished she could take the question back.

Grant cocked his head. “What would you have me tell her, Emily? Should I inform her that we are involved in a passionate affair? That every time I’m in a room with you I want to touch you? Taste you? Should I tell her that?”

Hand trembling as she removed it from her face to clench it in her lap, Emily swallowed hard. “Why tell her, since we both know nothing can come of it?”

He held her stare for a long, heavy moment before he nodded. “Yes. Nothing can come of it. That is what we promised, isn’t it?”

Turning her head, she looked out the window to the chilly London streets. Silence hung between them, made awkward by the fervor of his words.