Unmasking the Spy (17 page)

“No,” she answered. “Well, not
exactly.”

Rogue tilted his head and looked
at her.

Alicia bit her lip. “There’s
really not. But I know a man who would be very angry if he heard me say that.”

“Your husband?”

“No.”

“Fiancé?”

“No. I don’t really have an
‘understanding’ with him.”

“Then understand this,” Rogue
answered, bringing his face closed to hers so that his breath heated her cheek.
“Right now, what I want… is you.”

His lips brushed against hers
gently at first, then rubbed with increasing pressure. He nipped against her
lower lip with his teeth. Alicia gasped and his tongue swept inside her mouth.
Her fingers found themselves gripping his shoulders, as if afraid he might let
go. Alicia slid her tongue between her teeth in a tentative imitation of
Rogue’s kiss, and shivered when the tips of their tongues licked against each
other.

The strong hands on her waist
slid to her back, drawing her closer. His entire body felt hot and hard and
rigid. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips were flush to his
thighs. She trembled. He broke the kiss and rested his lips against her
forehead. His arms wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I wanted you
to kiss me.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, as if in
pain. He lifted her face to his. “You can’t tell me things like that, or I’ll
do it again. I’m just a man.”

Alicia felt a tremor of female
power. She slid her palms from his neck down the front of his shirt. He let her
go and trapped her hands against his chest. She stilled.

“Do you want me to come see you
another time?” he asked, as if afraid she might say no.

“Please,” she whispered. Planning
to meet him was no doubt an unwise idea, but he was her fairybook hero. She
couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him again.

He lifted her face with a knuckle
and rubbed his nose against the tip of hers. “Two days? Five o’clock?”

“Yes,” she breathed. She opened
her mouth to say more, but he silenced her with a slow, tender kiss.

He dragged his lips to her ear to
whisper “until next time” and was gone.

*          *          *

The next afternoon, Alicia
dropped her sewing into her lap. She leaned her head against the side of the
chair and let the fading afternoon sun warm her face. She’d hoped to experience
real kisses, had she? Alicia smiled to herself. She’d gotten her wish in
spades.

The moment he’d touched her, her
body had reacted. She loved the feel of his mouth on her neck, his arms
gripping her waist, her body flush with his. Alicia squirmed in her chair. She
had been missing out on more than kisses. She hadn’t understood the potency of
passion. Rogue was a delicious secret.

Why couldn’t Papa want to make
her marry someone like Rogue? Someone passionate, someone personable… unlike
Louis. Louis never thought of her when she was not around. For all she knew, he
didn’t think of her much even when she was standing right next to him. Louis
certainly didn’t bother with bringing gifts.

Alicia touched her neck, feeling
the slender chain there. She ought to put it in her room before going out
tonight with Louis. Rogue might be an impossible love, but Louis was just plain
impossible.

Not for the first time, she
wished she were an independent woman, capable of making the decision whether to
marry or not. She would live alone with Great-aunt Beatrix, without any men
about to criticize or control them. They could do as they liked. Alicia
grinned. Who knows what adventures they might get up to with time and money on
their hands. Louis already thought Beatrix dotty – what might he think then?
Alicia leaned back in her chair. She should tell him she wanted to indulge her
aunt’s every whim when she married. She could make up crazy schemes of her own.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready,
daughter? Louis will be here in a couple hours.”

Alicia lifted her head to see her
father pausing in the hallway. “Marvelous,” she muttered, and rose to her feet.

Papa tapped his fingertips
together and contemplated her. “Your first week is gone, daughter.  I assume
you’ve been busy trying to fall in love with Louis, if such a thing still
matters to you.”

He thought she might have “gotten
over” her hope for love in eight days time?

Before Alicia could respond, he’d
already turned and continued down the hall. She dropped her sewing into the
basket by the chair and headed for her room.

*          *          *

Mr. Morrissey was here tonight.
Alicia sensed his presence before she'd circled the ballroom for the first
time. She considered apologizing for the cut she gave him last they'd met, then
changed her mind. No need to encourage a rake like him, even if he had meant to
do nothing more than draw Louis from her.

Well, well, think of the devil.

Here came Louis now, prancing
through the crowd like a horse gone skittish. Alicia murmured to her group of
friends before moving away a few paces. No sense inflicting Louis on all of
them.

She inclined her head as Louis
reached her side.

“Just once,” he whined, “I should
like to meet someone handy with his fives.”

“I would like to meet a
maharajah,” Alicia replied in a commiserative tone. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“A maha- what has that to do with
cards?” Louis fingered his cravat and looked around the room. “If I weren’t
stuck here with you, I could be at a real gaming table.”

Alicia smiled over his shoulder
into the distance. “And I could be touring the world. I imagine India to have amazing vistas. The culture is so exotic.”

“Oh, you could not. Proper women
don’t go gallivanting cross-country by themselves. Besides, India doesn’t sound like any fun. They don’t even speak English.”

“I wouldn’t be on my own. I’d
take Aunt Beatrix as chaperone,” Alicia said in a decisive tone. “And if India doesn’t work out, we can always start with France. Nothing wrong with that,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Louis sniffed. “Don’t think for a
second that I’d give you any money to spend on Paris shopping.”

“No, no,” Alicia replied with a
wave of her hand. “One can do plenty of shopping here. I didn’t mean Paris at all. I plan to visit the Pyrenees, or perhaps the Alps. How thrilling it will be
to climb mountains!”

“Beatrix can barely climb the
stairs, cousin,” Louis said and smirked. “And I wouldn’t set foot on a
mountain.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Alicia
gave a sharp nod. “I should have to join an expedition.”

Louis goggled at her. “What
you’ll do is sit at home. I needn’t even allow you to visit Bond Street.”

“I suppose I should send for a modiste
if I were housebound. One must stay fashionable, of course.” Alicia fixed Louis
with a sardonic look.

He puffed up his chest and ran
his hands down the shirt stretched over his belly. “I,” he said, “am always in
fashion.”

“When not traveling, then, I
should endeavor to be just as modish as you, cousin. Being in the first stare
of fashion may come terribly dear, but such things are worth every cent.”

Louis put his hands on his hips.
“There will be no traveling, and I will decide which purchases are fashion
necessities. I don’t know where you get your ideas, but I forbid you from
having any more.”

He was outlawing ideas? What an
imbecile. From the corner of her eye, Alicia saw Mr. Morrissey approaching. She
hoped Louis would move on before Mr. Morrissey came close enough to overhear
his prattle.

“I would not allow you to spend a
single penny unchecked, cousin. Monetary concepts are too much for you to
grasp, since you are a woman and therefore have lesser intelligence than men
such as I. You must wear what I give you and do as you’re told.”

Alicia sucked on the insides of
her cheeks to keep from responding. Mr. Morrissey strode forward and she didn’t
want to add more flames to the Chadwick rumors. She narrowed her eyes and
willed Louis to go away.

Mr. Morrissey inclined his head
at Louis before turning to Alicia. “Miss Kinsey. I believe a quadrille is
beginning. If you do not already have a partner, would you consider me?”

“I’d love to,” Alicia said, her
voice sounding overloud to her own ears. Anything was better than Louis. She
laid her hand on the inside of Mr. Morrissey’s elbow and turned her back to her
cousin.

*          *          *

Ian gave Larouche a stiff nod and
led Miss Kinsey to the dance floor. After the chilly reception he’d received
last time, he hadn’t intended to interrupt them again. But, he swore he could
feel the tension radiating from Miss Kinsey from ten paces away. She’d seemed
to be having a decent time this evening until her cousin had barreled over. She
hadn’t danced much, but he’d watched her flit from one group of friends to
another, smiling and laughing. Larouche was a wet rag.

As they moved into the first
steps, her frustration shouted from the tenseness of her taut muscles as she
danced. Small wonder. If he’d told his sisters they were less intelligent to he
due to the virtue of their sex, they’d have considered throwing something at
him. If he’d said, “Wear what I give you and do as you’re told,” he’d have had
to duck for cover. Some women were brainless, to be sure. But not all. And
Larouche didn’t seem to have much between the ears himself.

Miss Kinsey was quiet throughout
the dance, and Ian didn’t press her to talk. By the time the music ended, she
had relaxed enough that he ventured to speak his mind.

“Pardon my rudeness in saying so,
Miss Kinsey, but I overheard a bit of your cousin’s comment,” he told her in a
gentle voice.

Her head snapped up and her eyes
widened.

“Please don’t fear all gentlemen
think as he does,” Ian said with feeling. “Some of us appreciate women with
minds of their own.”

Her head jerked in an uncertain
nod. “Thank you,” she mumbled with a weak smile. “Excuse me.” She slipped her
hand from the crook of his elbow and melted into the crowd.

Ian hoped he’d done the right
thing by trying to make her feel better. Each of his sisters reacted
differently to kind words when they were unhappy. One never knew with women.
Fascinating, fickle, incomprehensible creatures.

Larouche, on the other hand, was
easy to read. Only one thing seemed to be on his mind. Himself.

Ian quit the ballroom and entered
the card room. Larouche had trapped some poor soul in the corner. As he got
closer, Ian overheard snippets of their conversation and stopped in his tracks.
It was the same man Larouche had been prattling to about his boots and Miss
Kinsey earlier in the week. What was his name? Something Porter. Perhaps these
two were friends.

“I heard you visited a particular
neighborhood,” came Porter’s hushed voice.

“I can’t stay away from those
squirrels,” Larouche replied in a rushed whisper. “I don’t mind paying for what
they do. Last night–”

“Not the bits of muslin. The
game.”

“Oh, that. I nearly won. Next
time I’ll show them. You’ll see.”

“All I want to see is you back on
top, Larouche.”

“I will be soon,” Larouche
promised. “My cousin–”

“The little blonde thing? She
doesn’t seem to be working any magic. Things don’t seem any different for you.”

“When she’s my property, you’ll
know it. Right now she’s just a bit uppity. Too opinionated for her own good. I
have to teach her who’s in charge, but she’ll learn. She thinks she knows more
about fashion than me. Can you imagine?”

Ian imagined his cravat knew more
about fashion. Before Larouche’s idiocy had a chance to escalate, Ian shook his
head and left the card room. He’d spent enough time at this party. Time to move
on and find more names for his list.

*          *          *

The next day, Ian forced himself
to sit at his desk and pen a response to his sisters’ letter. He’d hoped he
would be back to Heatherley by now and able to speak with them in person. Of
course, in person he wouldn’t be lucky enough to receive a simple “P.S.  Bring
home a bride.” Ian let out a rueful chuckle. He had a feeling his sisters would
not leave him be until he found a woman to bear the title Mrs. Morrissey.

After signing his name, Ian
considered ignoring his sister’s marriage comment altogether. No, better not.
The next letter would contain nothing else. Ian freshened the ink on his pen
and scrawled across the bottom of the page, “P.S. Sorry, no wife.” Lest they
think he dismissed their advice out of hand, he added the word “Yet” and gave a
sharp nod.

That ought to hold them for now.

Besides, what was the hurry? He
was almost thirty, true, and he did want a wife someday, but there was no
reason to pick one up today, this week. He hoped for a wholesome girl. Someone
sweet. Monogamous. He definitely had no interest in attaching himself to some
jaded society princess with haughty airs, impatient to procure herself a string
of “discreet” London lovers.