Sweetest Little Sin (34 page)
Read Sweetest Little Sin Online
Authors: Christine Wells
Why was he being so curt with her? “What is the matter, Jardine?”
He sent her an incredulous look, then gave a quick shake of his head. “Go and get dressed. Pack everything you need into a bandbox.”
She hesitated, and he said, “Look lively, there, Louisa. We don’t have much time.”
WHEN he found Louisa in her bedchamber, she was dressed only in her shift. She was clean and her hair combed and dressed. She smelled of lilies and his craving for her intensified.
But she was gazing into her mirror at the gash down her face. Guilt burned his soul like acid. When this was over, she would turn from him, just as Celeste had. And she’d be right to do so.
“Aren’t you dressed yet?” Pain lent an edge to his tone. He didn’t want to see Louisa like this, so fragrant and tempting. Not now.
She rose from the dressing table and walked gracefully to the counterpane, where a gown and other accoutrements were laid out. “I need help with my stays.”
He grunted and walked forward. Snatched up the corset and fitted it around her lithe body. The delicate turn of her neck called to him, the elegant line of her shoulder blade. The exquisitely sensitive spot behind her ear.
His hands itched to rove, but he made himself concentrate on lacing and pulling until the corset hugged her slender form.
“Thank you.” Her voice was crisp, clipped. She didn’t, as he hoped she might, sink back against him, throw her head back, offer her throat to his lips and teeth.
She stepped away to pick up her gown and whisked it over her head. With a twitch and a shake, she was ready.
“Louisa.”
She pulled on a pelisse and began to button it. “Yes?” She didn’t meet his eye.
He looked away at the spectacular view from her window. The memory of the view Radleigh had enjoyed from the peephole opposite made his fury burn anew.
“What is it?”
He turned his head to look at her. “I hope you’re not going to grow soft about that fellow now that it’s over,” he said harshly. “He would have killed both of us.”
Louisa picked up a bonnet and fitted it on her head, carefully avoiding the long gash that ran from cheek to jaw.
“I know that, Jardine,” she said quietly. She tried to tie the wide, green ribbons at her chin and winced as one brushed against her wound. She let the ribbons flutter free.
Louisa turned her face to the mirror again, and he realized she’d chosen a bonnet with a poke that almost entirely concealed the cut on her face.
She’d cleaned it and it had finally stopped bleeding. Thank God it wasn’t quite as deep as he’d thought.
She would bear a scar, though.
She would bear a scar.
She would bear a scar.
Fury and remorse twisted inside him, rose in his throat, in his eyes, blinding him. He turned back to the window, bracing himself with one fisted hand against the embrasure.
He wanted to hit something. The drubbing he’d given that bastard minion of Smith’s hadn’t been release enough.
But he made himself think of what needed to be done. “We’ll go to a house I know. It’s not far.”
He blew out a breath. “At least the list is safe. No one will even know it existed. Faulkner would have burned it by now.”
There was a tense pause. “Someone else knows,” said Louisa.
He turned. “What?”
Louisa’s eyes were wide, uncertain. “I—I gave a letter to Harriet. I didn’t tell her what was inside it, but I asked her to post it to Max if I didn’t come back by next morning.”
Jardine shook his head. “The letter won’t have reached Max, Louisa. Harriet’s a professional. She’d have read it and then destroyed it. It’s what I would have done.”
“But—”
His fury boiled over. In biting accents, he said, “The work we do is secret work, Louisa. That means we’re on our own. We don’t write to our brothers, asking them to rescue us when we’re in a tight spot.”
“Max was one of us.”
“Not anymore. Do you know how sensitive that information was? What if someone else had intercepted your message? Do you know what damage you could have done?”
Her eyes flashed. “I see what this is. Your pride is hurt. You cannot accept that I went to someone else for help. I was desperate, Jardine. You were heading back into the Devil’s lair and I was about to follow. It was insurance, in case we were captured.”
The knowledge that jealousy and shame at his own failure to protect her fed his fury enraged him even more. “This nation’s security is more important than my life, don’t you understand?”
She gave him a long, sober look. “Not to me.”
He broke inside, then, sundered in two, creaking and cracking open like a ship dashed against jagged rocks. She loved him. And in his love for her lay his greatest weakness.
Smith knew that. Their present freedom was but a temporary reprieve.
“Come on. We’d better leave this place.” He picked up the bandbox she’d packed and walked out the door, leaving her to follow.
THE cottage was charming, a half-timbered house with a thatched roof, a pretty garden, and smoke curling from the stone chimney. A house straight from a fairy tale. A house from her dreams.
At the door, a woman with shrewd eyes greeted them. Jardine exchanged a few odd sentences with her about the weather, which were patently untrue. Some sort of password, Louisa gathered. Satisfied, the old woman handed him a large bunch of keys and left.
“The larder’s stocked and the sheets aired. I trust you’ll be comfortable.” The woman, who looked like someone’s benign old nanny, picked up her basket and bustled on her way.
Louisa blinked. “Is
she
. . . ?”
she
. . . ?”
“Oh yes.” Jardine looked about him. Then he went through the house, methodically checking windows and doors.
Louisa stripped off her gloves and carefully removed her bonnet before going in search of the kitchen. The old woman’s mention of food reminded her she hadn’t eaten for a long time. No doubt Jardine was similarly ravenous.
As she busied herself boiling water on the range and raiding the larder for supplies, she fought to keep the hurt at bay.
Jardine seemed more distant from her than ever. An unwelcome sense of futility pervaded her. Had all this been for nothing?
That thought made her pause. Was that the true reason she’d accepted Faulkner’s mission? Not to save those many unknown souls on the fatal list, not even so much to save Jardine, for she’d always placed faith in his almost supernatural ability to survive.
No, she’d done it to prove herself worthy of his love. To show him she was brave enough to share his life, not merely wring her hands on the fringes of it, waiting for him to decide when it was safe for her to join him.
Yes, it had all been for nothing. She was not a natural at spy work like Harriet. She’d made far too many mistakes. And Jardine still saw her as the helpless damsel in distress.
If only she hadn’t been caught. If only she’d managed to get that list and escape with it, Jardine would have to accept her as an equal, let her into his life.
Now, he’d locked her out as he prepared to do battle with Smith. And all she could do was make sure he was fed.
The soup was hearty, flavored with dried herbs culled from the stillroom. There was no fresh meat in the house, to her regret, but she’d added thick chunks of chopped bacon, which lent a smoky richness to the meal.
Jardine surveyed her with a gleam in his eye as she set a place for him at the small table in the parlor. Did it amuse him to have her play housekeeper for him?
She dipped her own gaze to hide how much she longed for such domestic normalcy. Then she reminded herself that even if he accepted her and brought her into his life, she would not be cooking for him like this.
“Delicious.” Jardine eyed her in surprise. “How did you learn to cook like that?”
“I taught myself.”
“Life in the country was that dull?”
She made herself speak calmly. “I did it out of necessity, if you must know. Our father left us without a penny to bless ourselves with and a mountain of household debt. I had to let all but two of our staff go simply to survive.”
His black brows drew together. “You told me you wanted for nothing.”
“That’s right, I did.”
But you never came to see for yourself, did you?
But you never came to see for yourself, did you?
“Did Max know about this?”
She snorted. “Of course not. And I had the Devil of a time keeping him ignorant. He worked himself to the bone to send us what money he had. He’d sacrificed everything so that Alistair could stay at Cambridge. I wasn’t about to add to his burdens. I managed.”
Jardine slammed his fist on the table. “He should have done something.” He pushed away from the table a little and pointed his finger at her. “And
you
should have used the money I sent.”
you
should have used the money I sent.”
She remained silent a moment, while she tried to bring her feelings under control. “How could I have explained my sudden affluence to my mother?” But that wasn’t the real reason she hadn’t spent that money. She’d been so furious and full of pride, she’d disdained to take it. “I have not complained, so I don’t see why
you
are making such a fuss.”
you
are making such a fuss.”
“Bloody hell, Louisa. You’re a marchioness, for God’s sake! And you tell me you were reduced to making your own dinner!”
“I
shot
my own dinner many a time,” she said, with a perverse desire to twist the knife. She shrugged. “My mother was prostrate with vapors nine days out of ten; we kept no company; I’d read every book the house contained, including my father’s hunting annuals. I’m cow-handed at embroidery and equally bad at the pianoforte. What else was there for me to do?”
shot
my own dinner many a time,” she said, with a perverse desire to twist the knife. She shrugged. “My mother was prostrate with vapors nine days out of ten; we kept no company; I’d read every book the house contained, including my father’s hunting annuals. I’m cow-handed at embroidery and equally bad at the pianoforte. What else was there for me to do?”
He almost started up. She hoped he would shake her. Then he sat back in his chair, one long, tapered index finger circling his wine glass. “You are no longer in such straits, now that your brother is the Duke of Lyle.”
“True.” She sipped her own wine. It was rough and robust, and perhaps it wasn’t wise to drink such strong liquor on an empty stomach. It made her reckless.
She took another long sip.
Changing the subject, she said, “You will go after Smith, of course.”
He returned to his soup. “No. I’m going to get you out of the country, while there’s still time.”
She blinked at him. “Out of the
country
? Are you mad? Where would I go?”
country
? Are you mad? Where would I go?”
He waved a hand. “Calais. Dieppe. It depends. We’ll make for the coast and then we’ll see whether we can book a passage. In any case, there’ll be smugglers who’ll take us.”
She’d rather eat dirt than scuttle off to France, but she let it pass for the moment. She needed to marshal her defenses. She needed a plan.
“What will happen to Smith?”
“My hope is that he’ll try to snatch his brother and get himself killed in the process.” He didn’t meet her eye.
“You’ll go back for him, won’t you? Once I’m safely out of the way.”
“I must.”
“You think he will still wish to harm you after you’ve given him his brother back?”
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
“I think perhaps his thirst for revenge will be assuaged. He might even be grateful to you.”
Jardine rested his spoon in his empty bowl. “I did my level best to get his brother hanged, Louisa. Once he’s free, I shall go after him and Smith again. Smith knows that.”
“But—”
“I’m
not
taking any more chances. Not where your safety is concerned.”
not
taking any more chances. Not where your safety is concerned.”
Twenty-four
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