Traitor and the Tunnel (36 page)

His lips twitched. “I thought I’d been quite clear about that, actual y. And the bit I didn’t get round to is that one day, I want to marry you. I’m not in a position to marry now. I haven’t enough money, and the terms of my father’s wil … it’s complicated. But you must understand that I want you, and you only.”

“Marriage makes even less sense! You were so vigilant about your brother’s choice of wife, and even the Thorolds weren’t good enough for you because of some distant rumours of shady business dealings.

How could you possibly marry a woman on the run, living under a false name, with a father who died in Cradle Tower after kil ing a toff?”

“Not forgetting your racial mixture.”

She glared at him. “I’m glad to see you certainly haven’t.”

“How could I? It’s part of you.”

“But you’ve not answered my question.”

“I suppose the simplest explanation is that you’ve changed me, Mary. I care more for you than I do for the superficial standards I’d previously set up as being necessary to a marriage. I made those arbitrary decisions because I didn’t understand the first thing about love.”

“But what sort of marriage do you think we could have? Your brother would never approve. And I’d bring nothing to it – no il ustrious ancestors, no business contacts.” She kept silent on the subject of money.

He smiled. “I suppose I thought we’d have a madly impractical, terrifyingly modern sort of marriage. One based on love. Not to mention dangerous undertakings and hair’s-breadth escapes from burning buildings, high ledges and exploding sewers.”

“And bickering.”

“Always that, yes.”

“Assuming I want to marry at al .”

“True: I know of no good way of forcing you to do anything.”

“And you’re mad enough to think it could work –

one day?”

He cupped her face in his hands. His smile was so bril iant it seemed to il uminate the room. “I think it would be heaven.”

She trembled, then. “You have a very strange idea of heaven.”

“Kiss me and see.”

In a peculiarly long and dreamlike morning, these were among the strangest few minutes. Mary had never seriously considered marrying anybody; had always assumed it impossible. And while she’d long felt James’s attraction to her, these repeated, matter-of-fact declarations of love were like blinding bursts of light in a dark room.

Slowly, she stretched, her spine lengthening, chin tilting up as she reached for him. Met his treacle-dark eyes, and half-smiled in anticipation. They’d never started gently or slowly, she realized. Al their previous kisses had been born of impulse, momentum, long-repressed desire. And yet she felt no self-consciousness, no hesitation. This was right and true. As her lips brushed his, ever so lightly, she shivered and wondered how she’d resisted for so long.

He sighed very gently, lifted her closer, and she was lost, sinking into his delicious warmth. Dizzy once more, but without fear or reserve. When they were like this, she doubted the need for anything else – air, water, sustenance. Together, they were a world entire, and instead of being terrified she found the thought exhilarating. And yet there was one more thing…

“James.”

He drew back a fraction. “There’s more to discuss?”

She kissed him again. “I love you.”

“You’re a cruel woman, forcing me to wait so long to hear it,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck.

“I started saying it in the sewers.”

“That’s what I’d hoped.”

“I was afraid.”

“I know.”

She laughed and twined her arms about his neck.

“Arrogance.”

“Yet somehow you find that attractive.” He picked out her hairpins with swift precision and her hair tumbled down. “Come here.”

She was on fire. Al fatigue, al doubt incinerated by the heat of James’s body, the power of his declarations. She lost herself in a haze of textures, of flesh against flesh, of silk on skin, of breath caressing lips and lashes. Only when James went stil beneath her – his hands suddenly motionless against her back, her thigh – did she pause.

“I can only hope,” said a stiff, half-strangled voice,

“that this is a nightmare.”

Mary’s limbs turned leaden. Her skin suddenly prickled with shame, not desire.

James cleared his throat. Smiled reassuringly at Mary. And turned to face his brother. “Hel o, George.

Thought you were out.”

“I just. Came. Back.” George glared from James to Mary and then back again. “Is there any point in my informing you of how unseemly this behaviour is?”

“None whatsoever,” said James easily.

George charged on, unheeding. “Such – such carryings-on are utterly inappropriate. And this female,” he pointed a quivering finger at Mary, “is no lady.”

James stood suddenly, al amusement vanished.

“Miss Quinn is the woman I love,” he said in quiet tones, “and you’l speak to her with respect.”

George’s face turned an interesting shade of purple. “You WHAT?”

“You heard me. I love Miss Quinn and require you to treat her with courtesy.”

George seemed to struggle mightily against an apoplectic fit. Eventual y, however, he said in shaking tones, “That Al eyn chit you met in India was bad enough, but this – this – James, you go too far. I absolutely forbid you to have anything to do with this baggage.”

Al eyn – was that the name of the girl in the blue dress? Mary wondered, and found within herself only the slightest pinprick of jealousy. Miss Al eyn might be rich and beautiful and have travel ed to India, but she wasn’t here now with James Easton.

James moved swiftly towards the drawing-room door. “George, your behaviour is the most unseemly thing in this room. Go upstairs before you say something even more regrettable.”

“Not while she’s in the house!”

James sighed. “George, I realize this is sudden. I’l talk to you about it later. But right now, you’l be civil to Miss Quinn or you’l leave us alone.”

“You’ve gone mad!”

“Choose.” James’s tone was that of an adult admonishing an obstreperous child.

“But Jamie—”

James’s patience snapped. Or perhaps it was the use of his detested childhood nickname. “Go. Out.”

He bundled George out of the room with more haste than tact, and returned a few minutes later, smiling apologetical y. “He’l come round.”

Mary laughed. She’d repaired her hair and was attempting to smooth her very crushed skirts. “Do you think so?”

“Wel , maybe not al the way round. But he’l learn some manners around you.” He took her hand and tried to lead her back to the sofa. “I’m sorry you had to see and hear al that.”

“Wel , I am exceedingly sheltered and delicate.”

“Precisely.” He kissed her again, deeply.

It was extraordinary how quickly her legs seemed to melt at moments like these. But after a minute, Mary found the strength to push back gently.

“James.”

“Yes?”

“You should talk to your brother.”

“Later. Let him cool off a bit.”

“And I ought to go back to the Academy. Make some arrangements.”

He frowned. “You’re stil lodging at the school?”

“Not for long.” She hesitated. A new scheme – a bold, foolhardy stroke of genius – had sprung up in her mind a minute before. It was either the best or the worst idea she’d ever had.

“Tel me.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“How busy are you at Easton Engineering?”

“I suppose you have the right to know, now. Not very, I’m afraid – it’s one of the reasons our marriage wil have to wait. Assuming you want to marry me, of course. Anyway, one of the consequences of my going to Calcutta was that we didn’t win any new domestic contracts. And George ran into a bit of difficulty with a long-term client… It’s going to take a while for me to rebuild things.” He frowned. “Are you worried about money? I suppose I ought to lay it al out. You’ve a right to know what you’re getting into.”

Mary shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking of your money.”

“You should be.”

“Just listen for half a minute,” she laughed. “I was thinking about a joint venture. How would you like to join me in detective work?” At his look of surprise, she elaborated. “You did a little, on your own initiative, with the Thorolds. And we worked together on the clock tower case.”

He looked at her strangely. “I suppose I do have a bit of experience there.”

“Easton Engineering would be an effective cover.

No one would wonder at clients meeting you there.”

“How long have you been doing this on your own?”

“A little under two years. It al began at the Thorolds’.” She hated this part: lying to James, even by omission. But if she could manage this one last time, she needn’t do it again. They could start anew.

Together.

He looked at her, a peculiar expression on his face. At first, she thought it was suspicion of her too-tidy history, and a little current of panic made her heart lurch strangely. “It seems so logical…” he murmured.

After a moment, she realized the look was something she’d never seen before in James: indecision. “What’s holding you back?”

“I trust you. I think we’d be a good team. It’s a clever scheme. I think I’d enjoy it. But each time I see you in danger, I nearly go mad with terror. I don’t know whether I could manage that sort of fear on a daily basis.”

“It mightn’t be daily,” she said in a consoling tone.

“Almost certainly not.”

“I need more reassurance than that.”

She folded her hands together neatly. Now that the scheme was hatched, she saw what she had to do.

Perhaps she’d known it, at some level, al along.

There was no going back to the Agency now; no fol owing Felicity in her bold new scheme. “James, this wil sound terribly like a threat, or blackmail, or something childish. It’s not intended as such. But I don’t intend giving up detective work. I should love it if you’d join me. But I shal continue with it, regardless.”

He swal owed hard and looked at her. “You’re certain.”

She nodded. As certain as she’d ever be about anything, except him.

He buried his face in his hands for a minute. Then, looking up, he offered her a crooked half-smile.

“Wel , then, Mary Quinn. Before I accept your outrageous proposal, have you any other skeletons lurking in your closet?”

“I’m a reformed housebreaker and fugitive from justice with a notorious Chinese kil er for a father. Is that not sufficient?” Her tone was light, although he could surely see her pulse hammering in her throat.

“I thought maybe you were an exiled princess of the Ming Dynasty.”

“That would make me over two hundred years old.”

He snorted. “My history’s disgraceful.”

She smiled softly at that. “And so is mine.”

Their gazes locked. Warmed. When he spoke again, after several moments, his voice was husky.

“It’s apt, don’t you think, that you proposed to me before I did to you?”

“We always were competitive.”

He nodded. “Domineering.”

“We squabble an awful lot.”

“We both hate being in the wrong.”

“True.” She paused. “Is this your way of declining?”

He grinned suddenly, bril iantly. “Are you mad?

Sounds like heaven to me.”