Star Crossed Seduction (12 page)

She’d had more than enough of the pain he’d evoked in her. Now she was doing what she’d done before when he’d made her feel too much—offering him her beautiful body in that cold, flirtatious way, to arouse him to where he could think of nothing but taking his own pleasure, to make him stop asking her more questions.

He wouldn’t respond to that temptation. He wouldn’t take her now. He pulled away from her.

“You don’t want me, now that you’ve heard my story?” Her voice sounded so young, like that of a hurt child.

“I don’t know what I want. But you deserve more than what I can give you. You
need
more.”

His cock disagreed—it would take a lot more than a pang of conscience to cool the lust awakened by her perfect body. But he was more than a cock, more than the mindless need that drove him to plunge himself into a woman until he was satisfied. He wished he weren’t. He wished he could take what she offered him and be done with it. It was what any other man would do. But he wasn’t another man.

A scoundrel had taken her with no care for what he’d done, playing on her youth and her idealism and teaching her she was wrong to ask for love or faithfulness. He wouldn’t worsen the damage that man had done.

“You need love,” he said. “You need fidelity.” But he did not say the rest of it, that she needed to join the glory of what she was with a man bold enough to join with her not only with his body but with his soul. That for him to give her less than that would be to make her in truth what she pretended to be—a hardened woman of the world, resigned to using her magnificent gifts to tempt and manipulate. If he took what she was offering, he’d be no better than that man who had taken her childhood from her.

She stretched one hand toward him, desperately—not to flirt with him, but as if she would sink if he didn’t grasp it. He left it alone. He’d already fallen twice for the illusion he might rescue her, and neither attempt at rescue had done more than draw them both into deeper danger.

He stood. “It’s getting late, and Rajiv must be wanting to shut up shop.” He smoothed out his tunic. “Let me take you back to your lodging.”

Chapter 10

H
e had expected the ride back to her lodgings to be awkward, but once he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t accept anything from her that night but her company, she’d relaxed and dropped some of the flirtatiousness with which she’d been trying to control him. Once or twice, he’d got a glimpse of the woman she might become if she could only leave off playing the games that so consumed her. But even so, his new resolve hadn’t dampened the desire he felt in her presence, and it had been a relief to bid her good night.

His mother was still up when he returned to Keppel Street.

“So there you are at last!” she greeted him. “There’s been such a to-do. A messenger brought this letter for you and demanded I tell him where you were, but I’m sure I couldn’t, for I certainly didn’t know. It was quite vexing how the man carried on—as if I were hiding something. Some people don’t trust anyone!”

One glance at the seal told him it was from Fanshawe. He hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon. What could he want?

A meeting, it turned out. This very night. No delay was possible, the under secretary wrote. He’d be at his office until way past midnight and must ask Captain Trevelyan to attend him there as soon as possible. A matter had come up he must discuss with him immediately—and only in person.

He sighed. The style was one he’d encountered before when working for Sir Charles. These men who directed secret missions had an unquenchable thirst for midnight meetings and assignations in improbable places, almost always unnecessary. He must count himself fortunate the letter had not been written in invisible ink. It was unlikely the matter about which Fanshawe had summoned him would require so dramatic a treatment. But perhaps the man was testing him, to ensure he was more than a dabbler.

Whatever the explanation, it made him feel better about having let his compunctions get in the way of taking his affair with Temperance to its logical conclusion. If he had spent the night with her, he’d have missed the appointment and left Fanshawe with a poor impression of his commitment. It had been a lucky impulse that had brought him home early, after all.

He was about to take his leave of his mother, when she said, “I went to see that astrologer woman, the other day.”

“Lady Hartwood?”

“Yes, the one who found Lady Pemberton’s emeralds. Everyone goes to see her now—she’s become all the rage. Though she’s a bit eccentric, she’s definitely one of us, so one can tell her things one simply couldn’t tell a Gypsy. And she can answer any question with just the horoscopes she casts.”

His hand tightened on Fanshawe’s letter as he asked, “And what did she tell you?”

His mother made a moue. “That’s the provoking part. I gave her your birth information, and she erected a chart, but she refused to find you a match. She said it wouldn’t be right to attempt it unless you came and asked her yourself. She did condescend to look at my nativity and promised I would live to see my grandchildren. But how I am to get them when you will not lift a finger to find a bride, I do not know.”

“You must ask the stars,” he said with a wry grin, and went upstairs to prepare for his meeting with Fanshawe.

W
hen Trev arrived at the East India Company building on Leadenhall Street, he found Mr. Fanshawe awaiting him in his office. The half-eaten sandwich lying on his desk amid the carefully piled pouches of dispatches signaled he had been working throughout the evening and would keep on working throughout the night, were that to be required. After welcoming Trev, he got right to the point. “We’ve had a change in plan.”

“Are you calling off my visit to the nabob?” The unworthy thought crossed his mind that this would give him more time to spend with Temperance.

But the under secretary quickly dashed his hopes. “Just the opposite. We’ve moved up its date. You must set forth for Sir Humphrey’s estate at the end of this week.”

Again he found himself grateful that he had followed his instincts and left Temperance alone. It would have been too painful for them both had he started something with her, then had to abandon her immediately.

“There’s something else.” Fanshawe cleared his throat. “I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you, but we have no other choice. Once you’ve taken possession of the jewel, we must ask you to deliver it to its owner in person.”

“But he is in India.”

Fanshawe nodded. “Exactly. But those who would foil our plans have stepped up their activity. We can’t afford to risk having the jewel fall into their hands, so we need this affair to be handled by a man of your experience.”

“But my leave—”

“—is over.” The under secretary tented his hands on the desk. “It’s regrettable that you must cut it short when it has only just started, but if we fail to deliver the jewel to the Nawab of Bundilore, it will mean war. You are the only man we have on hand who has the right combination of skills to get the job done, so we must ask you to make this sacrifice.”

Trev swallowed hard. Had this been the plan all along? It might explain why Sir Charles had been so helpful in arranging his leave. But he couldn’t suppress a flash of anger. He’d earned this leave. He wasn’t ready to embark on another grueling six-month voyage when he was only just recovering from the first.

Not only that, but to return immediately would make a liar out of him, for he’d have no chance to find the wife he’d promised his mother he’d wed. But he fought these selfish thoughts. A soldier might be asked at any moment to give up his life in service to King and Country. How could he complain when all he’d been asked to sacrifice was his leave?

He forced himself to attend as Fanshawe sketched out the details he would need to know to carry out the mission, and nodded as he committed them to memory one by one.

“Good then,” Fanshawe said. “We’ve deposited a generous amount to an account in your name at Threadneedle Street. That should be sufficient for any needs that might arise, and, may also, we hope, compensate you for the sacrifice you are being asked to make.”

He made a show of shuffling through the pile of papers before him to signal their interview was coming to an end.

Trev had been right. The matter was one that could have waited until morning, but he didn’t begrudge the man his bit of drama. He was a paper wallah, and this was perhaps the most excitement his job afforded him. It was the men like himself who carried out their missions who had all the adventures. He straightened his tunic, preparing to rise, but as he did, the under secretary held out one beautifully manicured hand to stop him.

“One more thing, Captain. Word has reached us from our forces on the street that you’ve formed a connection with a person of some concern.”

It took him a moment to figure out who the man was referring to. “You refer, of course, to Miss Smith?”

“Temperance Smith, yes. The details aren’t clear, but we believe her to be an agent of a shadowy character who calls himself ‘the Weaver.’ ”

“A Radical?” The name would suggest it, and Temperance had made no secret of her political sympathies. “Are the Radicals trying to get their hands on the jewel?”

“No. The Weaver isn’t driven by idealism, no matter how misguided. He serves only the highest bidder. In the past, it has been us, but this time we are fairly certain he is in the pay of the party who is trying to keep us from returning the jewel to its rightful owner.”

Trev’s guts roiled as the implications of this struck home. “Then am I to conclude that Temperance, too, is in the pay of our adversary?”

The man nodded. “That would appear to be the case. She was observed to meet with the Weaver’s henchman, Snake, shortly after improving her acquaintance with you.”

It took a moment to recover the ability to breathe as the blade twisting in his chest slashed through the strong but invisible cords he learned only now bound him to the wily pickpocket. He felt like an utter fool. How cock-smitten had he let himself become that he could have been so taken in? All along, his instincts had told him she was hiding something. Yet he’d found excuse after excuse to ignore them.

He kept his tone level so as to betray none of the emotion he was feeling. “I shall cut off her acquaintance at once.”

“That would be a mistake. It could signal that we are aware of the Weaver’s involvement in the affair, which is the last thing we want to do. Our enemy must believe she has duped you. That will preserve the safety of our agents working the street, and more importantly, it will keep the Weaver from sending out another agent whose identity we don’t know.”

“So you are ordering me to keep up my association with the woman?”

“Absolutely. You must keep her as close to you as possible until you are ready to embark for India with the jewel—and you must give her no sign that you have learned of her intentions. Now that you know what she plans, you should have no difficulty in keeping her from stealing it even though she’s a highly skilled pickpocket—you knew that, of course.”

“Of course,” he said, allowing no hint of emotion to seep into his voice even as he cursed himself for a looby. Though he’d known of her vocation, he’d ignored its implications. Shame washed over him at this evidence of how easily he’d been manipulated—he who had thought himself so skilled at political intrigue. She’d made him look like an amateur.

A wave of nausea swept through him as he remembered how innocent she’d looked tonight as she’d turned up those tear-stained eyes to him and told that pathetic tale of hers. It had probably been a fiction from start to finish, meant to achieve exactly what it had accomplished—to prevent him from forcing his unwanted attentions on her. She must be gloating now over how she’d spared herself yet again from having to submit to his embraces—loathsome to her, no doubt.

Though if the time came when she had to give herself to him in order to serve this Weaver person, he imagined she’d do it. How ironic that loyalty to her master was yet another quality she shared in common with himself.

It horrified him how skillfully she’d identified his vulnerabilities and how she’d used them not merely to make him crave that enticing body of hers, but to want so much more. That was what was so unforgivable—the way she’d made him yearn to meet her soul to soul.

He did what he could to shake off his dismay. At least he hadn’t betrayed any secrets to her. His training had been good enough to prevent that.

“I must warn you,” the under secretary added, “that though we have good reason to think she is the one they’re sending to steal the jewel, there is a small possibility we’re wrong. So you must stay alert to other threats. Anyone you meet might be working for our opponent. Trust no one.”

“You need have no fears about that, sir.” He had no intention of ever trusting anyone again. But it was a good thing he would be returning to India so soon. He would never have dropped his guard like this there. It was the unfamiliarity of London that had lulled him into making such a basic error—that and all those months spent on the voyage without a woman.

By God, he’d learned his lesson. Once he was back with his regiment, he’d find himself a complaisant
bibi,
and praise God each morning for her inert stupidity. He’d had enough of strong and independent Englishwomen.

But that made him think of an issue Fanshawe hadn’t addressed. “If I’m to keep an eye on her, I must take her with me when I go to visit Sir Humphrey. But won’t it be an unforgivable insult to introduce my mistress into his society?”

“It might be, to a normal man, perhaps. But there’s a reason they call him the Mad Nabob. The man keeps a harem. Hint that you’ve brought the girl along as a gift in the Eastern manner, and he will more than welcome her.”

Fanshawe rose, signaling that this time the interview really was over. “Our people on the street do an excellent job, don’t they, Captain? We had word of who she was within an hour of her meeting with the Weaver’s man.”

“Yes, sir. Very excellent indeed.”

As he made his way out to the street, he told himself he should be grateful. No harm had been done, and the department’s agents had, indeed, saved him from making a mistake that would have cost him his career.

But just now, he found it difficult to rejoice.