Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (27 page)

He needed no further prodding, no instruction. He allowed his body to move as it would, to follow instinct and desire. She stiffened again, and he waited until she relaxed and sighed. He moved again, and this time when she stiffened, he could not stop.

“I can’t…” He clenched his jaw, but his body had taken over. He thrust one last time and felt his seed spill into her. He had not intended to allow that. He had thought to spill his seed on her belly or the blanket. But now it was done. Now he lay panting, his head on her shoulder, her arms around him.

She held him tenderly, stroked his back, whispered his name. He wanted to tell her he did not deserve this sweetness, this gentleness, but he was afraid if he spoke, his voice would break. And so he held on and concentrated on the steady, rapid pounding of his heart.

***

The act had not hurt as much as Jane had anticipated. It had been uncomfortable, but there had also been moments when she sensed she might have felt pleasure if it had not all been so new. If she had not been so concerned for him. His breathing had slowed now, and he pulled back to look at her. His dark eyes were even darker. The candle lighting the room had burned down, and the dormitory was darker than it had been.

She wanted to say something. She was afraid she wanted to tell him that she loved him. She did not even know when she had fallen. Perhaps in the stable, when she’d realized how vulnerable he was. Perhaps when he’d kissed her as Farrar stitched her. Perhaps the first time she saw him. She could not tell him, even if she wanted to. What would he say to that revelation? He would probably leap off her and run screaming for Piccadilly and the first coach he could take out of London. She was going to marry this man. She would have the rest of her life to tell him how she felt.

If she could keep him safe until Foncé was captured. If she could avoid becoming Foncé’s next victim.

“I apologize for any pain—”

She put a finger over his lips, half-expecting him to protest that she was touching him. But he allowed it. “I am not so fragile. And I did not feel pain. I felt a little discomfort. I am certain, given time and practice, that will fade.”

“I…did not take precautions.”

She furrowed her brow, uncertain what he meant. At times she thought the most difficult aspect of being a lady was having to talk around every taboo subject.

“We may have to marry now.” He pulled away, and she felt the loss of him keenly. But he did not leave her side. He lay beside her, facing her, his head propped on an elbow.

“I told you, I already intended to marry you. Even before…” She gestured to the bed, noticing she was still nude and still uncovered. She had never been overly modest, but she still found it strange that she should not be uncomfortable to be so exposed before him. Especially when he was still dressed and she had seen almost nothing of his body.

He closed his eyes. “You do not want to marry me, Jane. If you only knew…”

When he did not go on, she said, “If I only knew what? Tell me, and then I shall know. We can put your fears to rest.” She met his dark gaze, and for a long moment she thought he might actually tell her. She saw the conflict, saw the war within him. And then he closed his eyes.

“I cannot. It is not a fit subject for a lady.”

“I assure you,” she said, “I have discussed many subjects not suitable for ladies. We have just done something many might consider not acceptable for ladies. I am no saint. Just a woman. You can tell me. Anything.” She yawned, her sudden fatigue surprising her.

He touched her stitches, and she realized he had been careful of them earlier. How could she not fall in love with him when he was so careful with her? “You must be exhausted,” he said, moving to sit.

But she cupped his neck and brought him back down beside her. “I am. Stay with me. Sleep with me.”

He gave her an indulgent look, and she knew he was humoring her. Well, so be it. If she but fell asleep with him beside her, it was enough. She wrapped her arms around him and burrowed into his chest, resting her head against his heart. She could hear the steady thump of it, smell the scent of leather on his clothing and skin. She knew his scent now. She knew his taste, and yet she did not know him at all at times.

But they would have a lifetime to learn everything there was to know about each other. Her eyes drifted closed, and she was vaguely aware that he pulled the blanket over her and moved away. He was not ready to hold her, to allow that much intimacy. Jane fell into a light sleep and was almost as instantly awake and reaching for her dagger.

“What is going on here?”

Bollocks! She was naked, and her dagger was God knew where. But then she remembered she was in the Barbican headquarters. She was safe.

She knew that voice. It was familiar to her. She had heard it—

Her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, and she spotted her uncle hulking in the doorway. She snatched the blanket over her breasts.

His face was red, his eyes bulging. “I told you to go to Kenham House.” He glanced across the room, and her gaze followed. There was Dominic, standing stiffly against the wall.

“I did go to Kenham House,” she said, “but when the assassin found us, I thought I should come back and notify you.”

His gaze went to her again, and his eyes widened with interest. He took in her state of dishabille. “I see,” he said.

Jane did not like the way he was looking at her, as though his scheme had gone exactly as planned. “What do you see?” she asked.

“Griffyn took advantage of you. He has ruined you.”

“He is my betrothed.”

“Exactly,” her uncle said with a smile.

Rage burned through her. How dare he act as though what had happened between her and Dominic was some sort of stratagem? How could he reduce it to that? “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I should congratulate you, Mr. Griffyn,” M said. “You have done exactly what I hoped.”

“If you want to congratulate someone, then it should probably be me.” She wrapped the blanket around her, jumped off the bed, and stood in the line of fire. “I seduced him. I wanted him to ravage me.”

“Jane,” Dominic said, his voice low. He stepped beside her, unwilling to allow her to shield him. “Enough.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I will not allow you to play the martyr.” She looked back at her uncle. “The truth is I stripped nude and begged him to—”

“For the love of all that is holy, do not say another word!” her uncle yelled. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “I do not want these images in my head.”

“I do intend to marry her, my lord. I know initially neither of us intended to honor the betrothal agreement, but we have reconsidered.”

“Oh, you will marry her,” M said. “And you’ll go back to Kenham Hall this moment and continue the wedding preparations.”

“No.” Jane shook her head. “Foncé knows we were there. He sent Tueur to kill me. There’s nowhere left to hide, my lord. We act now, or…” She didn’t continue. She didn’t know what else to say. The alternative was too awful to consider. Her aunt dead or one of Griffyn’s brothers carved open by Foncé. It was past time the man was stopped.

Her uncle seemed to consider her words for a long moment. Jane didn’t understand why he was hesitating. What was there to think about? Why did he want her away from London so badly?

“Very well,” he said. He turned his gaze and his pointing finger on Jane. “I expect you in my office in one hour.”

“Yes, my lord.” Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she was imagining his eagerness to be rid of her.

He started for the door to the dormitory then looked back one last time. “I’ve summoned all the agents in London, and most should have arrived by now, so do endeavor to look considerably less debauched.”

Fifteen

Dominic watched the door close and swallowed. The lump in his throat did not budge, nor did the weight pressing on his chest, making every breath he took labored and difficult. He was going to marry. He looked at Jane, his gaze lowering to her belly. He might have a child. Panic clawed at the edge of his thoughts. What kind of father would he be? Who was he to deserve a child?

“Do I look debauched?” Jane asked, blinking at him.

She looked adorable, wearing only a blanket, with her hair mussed and her lips red and slightly swollen. “Thoroughly.”

She arched a brow. “I have the feeling you rather like it.”

“I will not answer that.”

He did not know if it was deliberate, but her blanket slipped then, revealing the swell of one breast. He swallowed again. God help him, but he wanted her again. He hadn’t realized that the act could be like that, that there was more than the simple release. So much more. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to forget about the past. He might be able to begin again. Perhaps if he concentrated on how lovely his betrothed looked in only a thin blanket.

Perhaps if he concentrated on removing that blanket… Then he might keep the past at bay. He might even forget it one day and begin again.

“I suppose if I am not to look debauched, I must dress,” Jane said, looking about at her discarded clothing. “I do not have much time. I could use your assistance.”

He shook his head. “I will fetch Miss Qwillen. I know nothing about women’s clothing.”

“This could be your opportunity to learn.”

Not if she actually needed to put clothing on. He backed toward the door and started for Q’s lab.

Closer to a half hour later, Jane emerged, looking fresh and pretty and perfectly innocent. No one would guess she had been tied to the bed for his pleasure just under their feet. And thank God her uncle had not seen her thus.

“Are you ready?” she asked Dominic as Q stepped out behind her.

“I was not summoned.”

“Rubbish,” she told him. “You need to know the latest intelligence as much as I do. Q? Are you coming?”

Q yawned. “No. I have worked all night to make the specifications Baron requested to his pistol. He should be able to prime it even faster than before. You still have the quill?”

Jane patted her reticule, and Dominic sighed. He’d forgotten the exploding quill. It would be a miracle if they all survived.

“Good. I have done all I can then. Be careful, Bonde.”

“I always am.”

“And kill that bastard Foncé.”

Jane smiled. “You know I will.”

Dominic shook his head. That was the strangest conversation between two ladies he had ever heard, but nothing since the night he’d met Jane had been ordinary. He did not think anything in his life would ever be ordinary again.

He escorted Jane to the upper floor and to the threshold of Melbourne’s office. He could overhear voices inside, both male and female. He still thought it wisest to wait outside, but she pulled him in with her. The room quieted when they entered, but Jane ignored the stares and silence and led him to the only available seat. It was an armchair. She took it, leaving him to stand beside it.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said.

Melbourne made some sort of growl, and the man standing beside his desk raised a brow in amusement. The man had remarkable blue eyes, and Dominic almost wondered if they could possibly be real.

“I would introduce everyone,” Jane said, “but we are spies, and that is sort of against the rules.”

But Dominic already knew Wolf and Saint, Lord and Lady Smythe, and of course he knew Lord and Lady Keating from the night before. He did not know the man with the blue eyes or any of the other men standing in the shadows, but Dominic did not wish to know them. At times, the less one knew, the better.

“When you interrupted,” Melbourne said, eyeing Jane, who looked absorbed in examining her nails, “Blue was telling us the latest intelligence.”

It was not difficult to ascertain who Blue might be. He was the man with the vivid blue eyes. “I thought Blue had retired,” Lady Smythe said.

Blue cocked his head. “And we all thought you would have had that baby by now, but you are still here.”

“Touché,” Lord Keating remarked.

“In any case,” Blue said, “I
am
retired, which makes it even more remarkable that it was
I
who overheard the latest intelligence and not one of you.”

“You are a lodestone for intelligence,” Lady Keating said. “It falls into your lap as though it were a wounded bird.”

“It rather does, doesn’t it? In any case, I overheard a conversation—I won’t bore you with details—M knows them—that seemed to indicate Foncé has plans to assassinate a large group of important personages.”

“I assumed his target was still the prince regent,” Lord Smythe remarked.

“As did I, but it appears he has expanded his diabolical plans,” Blue said. “He has a scheme in place. I do not know when it will be executed, but my impression was that we—you, rather—have no time to waste.”

A rumbling of voices moved through the room, and Blue sauntered to the couch and sat beside Lady Smythe. Dominic had to admit she did look close to bursting. Finally, Melbourne lifted his hand, and the room quieted. “Thoughts?”

“He could be planning anything,” one man said. “I do not know where to begin.”

“I think it might be a ploy to distract us from the real target,” another man interrupted. “I do not think we should take our focus from the prince regent.”