The Secrets of a Scoundrel (7 page)

Chapter 5

T
he next morning, Gin went down to breakfast with her plan for the day firmly set in her mind.

After making their final preparations this morning for the dangerous mission ahead, they would set out for London this afternoon.

By tomorrow night, they should be ready to proceed to the Topaz Room in Southwark, where they would confront Hugh Lowell, the owner of the notorious gambling hell.

But when Gin stepped into the dining room and inquired of her staff whether Lord Forrester had appeared yet this morning, Mason informed her that His Lordship had been up since dawn and had gone out to the hot springs.

Gin went motionless, hearing this.

Though she had told Nick he was welcome to bathe in the hot springs—that, indeed, it would be good for him after all his injuries—she had never meant for him to go unchaperoned.

Her immediate response was a tightening of fear in her chest, then her heart began to pound. God, the cave was so close to the front gates and the perimeter of her property.

What if he had lied to her staff, merely using a visit to the hot springs as a pretense to cover his escape?

She was instantly furious at herself for trusting him. An agent willing to abandon the Order itself would surely not hesitate to desert her on her investigation. It was clear he hardly took it seriously, after all, since she was naught but a lowly female. His indignation about the medical exam and their quarrel last night would have only fueled his desire to escape.

Waving off an offer of breakfast, she clipped out a command that her horse be saddled at once and brought round. Why, oh, why hadn’t she specified to him and her staff that he was not to leave the house unsupervised?

Why hadn’t she set a guard on him at all times, the way the graybeards had advised and, in truth, had assumed she would do?

Because I wanted to trust him,
she thought as she marched out through the entrance hall and snatched her cloak off the wooden coat-tree in the corner.

She wanted him to take this chance to stand up and be the man her father had known Nick had the potential to become. He was so beautiful and fearless, yet so bloody difficult . . .

She wanted to believe the best of him. That there was still a man worth saving behind the cynicism, bravado, and despair. A man of honor.

A true knight of the Order.

We’ll see.
Pulling on her coat, she stalked outside into the gray November drear.

Her tall, powerful dapple gray swiveled his fine head, pricked up his ears, and snuffled a horsey greeting when he saw her. “Morning, Trebuchet.” She gave him a brisk pat, nodded tersely at the groom holding the bridle, then sprang up onto the sidesaddle, gripping the pommel with one hand. The groom handed her a riding crop.

She nodded to him to back away, then she was off, cantering briskly across the acreage of her estate for the hot-springs cave, and praying she had not made a huge mistake.

But one thing was clear. If Nick needed to be treated like a convict, as she had been warned, then that was precisely what she’d do.

If he was not already long gone.

The drizzly morning’s chill seeped into her bones and made steam rise from her horse’s spotted hide. The bare, sparse branches raked the leaden skies overhead; from beneath her horse’s flying hooves, chunks of emerald turf flew up as she cantered across the green expanse of lawn.

But when she guided Trebuchet into the woods, following the well-worn path to the cave, the thick blanket of wet fallen leaves crushed underfoot filled the damp air with the smell of autumn.

Surely, Nick was not that dishonorable, she thought, her stomach still churning with dread as the muddy path rose toward the cave’s mouth. He might be many things, but surely he would not abandon her when she had explained how he was the only one who could help her get the required game piece to the vile Bacchus Bazaar.

Innocent girls’ lives were at stake.

As the cave’s mossy entrance came into sight, she decided that if he was not in there—if he was gone—then she had truly misjudged him. And for that matter, so had her sire. Trying not to jump to conclusions, she would not have to wait much longer to find out.

Arriving at the cave, she dismounted, steadied her gelding, then tied his reins around a nearby tree.

Still clutching the riding crop, she lifted the hem of her walking dress to slog through deep mud up to the ankles of her boots, clambering up to the slippery stone entrance of the cave.

The bubbling pool of medicinal waters lay at the end of the murky tunnel. Inside, the cave was dark and warm, filled with hollow, dripping sounds. The mineral smell was strong, but Gin quickly got used to that.

Trailing a gloved hand along the smooth limestone wall of the tunnel to guide her on her way, she ventured into the darkness while her eyes adjusted.

Halfway down the tunnel, she saw a glow of light ahead. The staff left oil lamps and fresh towels here, knowing the hot springs were often used. But Gin remained cautious.

Just because the lamp was lit did not mean her guest was still here. It could be another ruse, meant to buy him time. Her heart pounded as she neared the end of the tunnel, stopping just in time to avoid stepping with her mud-coated boots on a pile of clothes near her feet.

She looked down at them and felt a rush of hope, then immediately glanced ahead toward the pool.

Her knees went weak with relief.

He was there, lounging in the water—his black hair slick with moisture, his arms spread wide, elbows resting along the stone edge of the pool.

With his head tipped back, his eyes were closed, the harsh angles of his face softened with sensual pleasure.

Gin swallowed hard at the sight of his glistening body. She stepped around the pile of his clothes, drifting nearer, her heart pounding. His lifted his lashes and gazed at her with a lazy smile, the fire in his coal black eyes banked to a golden glow. “Am I ever glad I listened to you,” he greeted her in a purr.

Gin smiled, hoping that the riot of her emotions upon finding him here did not show too plainly on her face. She was so relieved he had not run off on her that she did not know what to say.

Secretly chastened that she had doubted him, she tried her best to seem natural—and not to stare too much. With a discreet gulp, she lowered her gaze to toy with her riding crop.

Nick eyed the object curiously. “Just what are you planning on doing with that, dare I ask?”

“Oh, um, nothing. I just . . . forgot to leave it in the saddle holder. I rode up here,” she added.

“Ah.” He nodded slowly, staring at her. Reading her once again, she feared. “Are you going to join me?”

Her eyes widened; her head snapped up to meet his gaze.

“The water’s blissful,” he added, his midnight eyes full of dangerous invitation.

This from a man who had informed her in no uncertain terms last night that there would be no naughtiness between them.

She wondered at how many women had wanted to strangle him over the years.

“No, I—that is, we need to get our day started. Ahem.” She cleared her throat and looked around at the rocky protrusions of the cave walls. Anywhere but at him. “I hate to ruin your fun, but we’ve got work to do. We leave for Town this afternoon.”

He heaved a great sigh. “As you wish, my lady.” Nick sank down into the water, disappearing, and then he stood up, visible to the waist. He brushed the water off his face, then squeezed it out of his slick hair, shrugging his broad shoulders, and flexing his neck from side to side.

He let out a sigh of satisfaction: Gin could not take her eyes off him. The muscled elegance of his sculpted body filled her with raw yearning.

He turned around and climbed, naked, out of the pool. Her pulse pounded, her mouth watering, as her stare slid down the strong, sweeping lines of his lower back to his taut buttocks and his lightly furred thighs.

He grabbed a towel, dried himself a bit, then wrapped it around his waist, turning back to her. “I know I had some clothes on when I got here. Now where the devil did I . . . ?”

“Here,” she meant to tell him, but her voice had disappeared.

“Ah, there you are.” He approached his clothes, his body warm and glowing, a relaxed expression on his face that made him seem almost like another man entirely.

He eyed her in amusement, as though well aware of her staring. His glance flicked to the riding crop in her hands. “Not sure I trust you with that thing.”

“Don’t make me use it,” she shot back in a breathy tone, to her dismay. At least she had recovered her bravado in time to avoid making a complete cake of herself.

He laughed softly and bent to pick up his clean linen drawers near her feet. He looked at her, then cast aside his towel, and stepped into them.

Throbbing with his nearness, Gin bit her lower lip and dropped her gaze while he proceeded to dress, but she could feel him studying her. “Are you all right, my lady?”

“Yes. Why?” She swallowed hard.

“You look, I don’t know. Nervous.” She jumped slightly when he touched her face, wiping away a fleck of mud that her horse must have kicked up. “Something wrong?”

I thought you betrayed me,
her heart whispered. But outwardly, she managed a taut smile and shook her head. “Just eager to get on about our business.”

He nodded. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”

“I’ll wait outside.” If she stayed in here much longer, alone in the dark intimacy of the cave with him, she had a feeling they were both going to end up naked in that pool, and that was not allowed to happen.

Somehow, she dragged herself back out to the threshold of the cave, savoring the bracing chill of the morning now. But as she waited for him, staring out at the gray drizzle of the day, she reminded herself once again that he was a spy—trained to manipulate, deceive, charm his targets into doing things that were not in their best interest.

Which was all the more reason not to let him know the truth. That she had been incapable of loving her dead husband because he could never compare in her eyes to the breathtaking men who worked with her father.

Men like Nick.

And she knew perfectly well why Virgil had never wanted her to meet any of them. He had known what would happen. That she, passionate, rebellious, would fall desperately in love with one or the other of them, but that, given his warriors’ deadly obligations, it could only end for her in agonizing heartbreak.

It might yet, she thought, as Nick sauntered out to join her near the cave’s mouth.

As her gaze flicked over him, she could not help smiling a little. No cravat, no waistcoat, but at least he had his trousers and boots on; he was still tucking in his loose white shirt and pulling his black jacket on as he approached.

“Nice piece of horseflesh,” he remarked, nodding at Trebuchet, who was eating the leaves of some nearby bush.

“Come,” she ordered. “He’s strong enough to carry us both.”

Nick followed her down over the slippery rocks outside the cave’s entrance to her horse. They took the bulky side saddle off him so they might ride together; Nick carried it back up into the cave for one of the servants to collect later.

Soon, Trebuchet was moving along at an easy, swinging walk with both of them on his back. Nick rode behind her, his hands resting lightly on her waist.

Gin was acutely aware of his hands and the unyielding hardness of his body behind her, his breath warming her neck as she held the reins.

They passed through the drizzling woods in silence.

“You thought I’d gone, hadn’t you?” he asked at length, his voice low and intimate at her ear. “Don’t lie,” he chided softly before she could deny it. “I saw the relief on your face when you stepped into the cave.”

Gin considered how to respond. “You’ve defied my expectations,” she admitted.

“You’ve certainly upended mine,” he replied.

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but maybe it was better not to know. Whatever assumptions the cynical ex-spy had made about her were likely to be a tad insulting: She refused to rise to the bait.

“I’m not going to abandon you,” he said. “I agreed to help you, and I will. I do have one speck of honor still.”

“Good,” she forced out. “I’m counting on you. And so are those kidnapped girls.”

“Right. Well, what’s next?”

“Weapons practice. Let’s make sure you haven’t lost your touch.”

“Me?” He laughed idly. “I was born with a sword in my hand, don’t you know?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the irresistible rogue. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

S
he fed him well and let him play with guns. Nick was not the type to fall in love, but these two points put Lady Burke as close to being his ideal woman as he had ever met.

There was also the lesser fact that the more time he spent with her, the more curious he became about what she would be like in bed. Tender and sweet? Needy and demanding? Shy or insatiable? Would her façade of cool control melt away into frenzied submission, or would she try to master him, fight him for dominance?

Envisioning the many possibilities heated his blood so much that he avoided meeting her gaze for fear she’d read the drift of his dirty thoughts in his eyes.

He was
not
getting himself sent back to prison by offending her. Only a dolt would fail to realize he had already pushed his luck. Therefore, Nick gave no sign of his desire: He was a very angel, on his best behavior. For once.

They spent an hour in target practice with an assortment of guns, shooting toward the steep hill behind her house to ensure that any stray bullets pierced nothing more than turf.

Not that there
were
any stray bullets. Nick
hadn’t
lost his touch, as it turned out, and as for Lady Burke, why, the beautiful baroness was an impressive shot.

She favored her little silver pistol. He was more of a rifleman, himself.

At length, the gray gloom cleared, and the skies parted to admit some slanting, golden sunshine. It immediately began to dry the soggy grass and lit the bleak autumn world around them with its mossy, melancholy beauty.