Lord and Lady Spy (14 page)

“Use your fingers,” she whispered, opening for him.

He slid his finger into her, and she arched her back. He knew exactly how to touch her. He hadn’t forgotten what she liked—the pressure, the long strokes, the teasing. He spread her legs farther and tossed her skirts over her belly so she was bared to him. She liked seeing his eyes darken as he watched her writhe at his touch.

He jumped in her hand, and their gazes met. Now was the moment. She had to allow this to go farther or stop it altogether. Or might he allow a compromise?

“I want to be inside you,” he said again.

“No.” Though her thoughts swam, she was firm. Her voice wasn’t breathy or quavering. She didn’t falter. “I can’t.”

She saw him swallow, saw him struggle for what to say, what to do next. “Do you want me to stop?” he said finally.

She shook her head and made to sit up. He stepped back, but she took hold of his hips. “Let me show you what I want. Then perhaps, if you’re a good student, you can reciprocate.”

She pulled him to her and heard his gasp of surprise. They had never done this. She had never put her mouth on him like this. He—the perfect gentleman—had never asked it of her, and she—disguised as the drab little mouse—had not wanted to seem too adventurous. But now he knew she was Agent Saint. She didn’t need to hold back.

She took him into her mouth, stroked him with her tongue, her lips. She let his reaction guide her, learning quickly how to touch him to please him. Within moments, he was gripping her shoulders. “Sophia, I’m going to…”

She gripped his hips, pulled him close, and felt his climax. She’d never realized how powerful it was before, how consuming for him.

A few moments later, he sat beside her and pulled her against him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “Curiosity has always been my downfall.”

“Downfall? Hardly, madam. Bloody hell, your shoulders are ice.” He rubbed her arms up and down.

“I am rather cold.” She gazed into his eyes. “Do you think you could warm me?”

He bent, kissed her lips gently. “Don’t let it be said I’m not a good student.” He tossed his coat on the bench, and kissing her again, laid her on top of it. She was glad now for the garment’s warmth, glad as his body covered hers, as his mouth traced a trail of kisses from her neck to her belly. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her ribs. “Our first night together, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Under all those drab gowns, you were hiding a body like this.”

She didn’t know what to say in return. When she’d met him, she’d thought him the most handsome man she’d ever known. She couldn’t believe he would want to marry a mouse like her. True, she wasn’t as hopeless as she made herself appear, but she took no great pains with her appearance. She hadn’t cared what she looked like then. It was only after years of learning to play one part after another that she found she could appear beautiful when necessary. She learned she was beautiful.

But Adrian had thought so their first night together, and she didn’t have words for how much that meant to her. She’d been so young, so inexperienced, and so overwhelmed by him. She’d wanted to do everything right, and she feared she was a disappointment to him. He hadn’t even stayed with her a full day.

“A mission!” she said now.

He looked up at her. “What?”

“That’s why you left after our first night together. You had a mission.”

He kissed her belly again, and she struggled not to arch into his lips.

“Surveillance in France. It was the mission that proved my worth to the Barbican group. Why are you thinking of that now?” His fingers played over her skin, dipped under her skirts, and stroked her thigh.

“I… no reason.” She could hardly concentrate with his fingers stroking her leg like that.

“Tell me.” He stopped touching her for a moment. “I want to know.”

She shook her head. “It seems foolish now. It was so long ago. You don’t have to stop.”

He laughed. “I’m not going to stop, but I don’t want secrets between us anymore.”

He bent and kissed her again, and somehow it was easier for her to speak to his dark blond hair. “I thought you left because you were… unhappy with me.”

His head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

She struggled to sit, but he levered himself over her, keeping her down. “I told you, it’s foolish. I was so young. I was a little infatuated with you, and when you left, I thought…”

“You didn’t please me.”

She looked away, focused on the spiky purple delphinium growing beside the bench. His hands cupped her face tenderly and drew her gaze back to his. “You never said anything,” he murmured.

“What should I have said?”

He kissed her eyes, then her cheeks. “You’re right. I should have said something—not about the mission—but something to reassure you. I didn’t think.”

“Of course you didn’t. It’s the nature of the job. I know when I have a mission, it’s all I can think of as well.”

“But you were a new bride. I should have taken that into consideration.”

She reached up, pushed the lock of hair fallen over his forehead back. “We can’t apologize for every wrong we’ve done one another,” she said. “It would take months, perhaps years. And these are old wounds. I hardly feel them anymore.” Not anymore. Not tonight. “I don’t feel them at all when I’m with you like this.”

“Sophia.” His mouth was on hers again, and she drank in the taste of him. Agent Wolf was kissing her. Agent Wolf was making love to her.
Adrian
was making love to her. But as much as she was enjoying it, she feared the night was growing late.

“We really should go inside. Someone will be looking for us shortly.”

“I hope they don’t find us like this.” He tossed her skirts over her legs and belly and dipped between her legs.

“Adrian…” She really should stop him. They had been missing too long. But then his mouth was on the inside of her thigh, and she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. “Adrian,” she whispered as his tongue touched her, swirled against her center. Her body went into shock. She was hot and cold, shivering and burning all at the same time. She couldn’t seem to still her hips or stop her thighs from falling wantonly apart.

Half of her mind was on the path, her eyes focused on the agapanthus near the walkway. She knew someone would come down that walkway any moment—Cordelia or Edward or one of the guests. But Adrian seemed in no hurry at all. He teased her until she was moaning and fisting her hands in the silk of her dress, and then he pulled away, leaving her gasping for more.

“Adrian!” she scolded him. She wanted him to hurry, and she wanted him to continue forever. Why had she not insisted they return home? He could do this all night if they were in bed together.

“Patience,” he murmured. “A good agent has patience.” He slid a finger into her, and she moaned.

“A good agent accomplishes his mission,” she sputtered as his mouth touched her again. How did he know just what to do to bring her the most exquisite pleasure? How did he know exactly how to stoke her, how to use his tongue on her like that? They’d never done this before, and clearly she had been missing out. Adrian had always been a good lover, but this—this was beyond… she couldn’t think of words anymore. She could only feel. She cried out, not caring that the sound carried through the gardens and probably into the house.

A long time later, she opened her eyes. Adrian was smiling down at her. “Did I accomplish my mission?”

She reached for him—

“Lord Smythe? Are you out here?”

Sophia froze. “Cordelia!” She darted her eyes to the agapanthus, but Cordelia hadn’t reached it yet. “Hide!” she hissed, throwing her skirts down and pulling her bodice up. Oh, her underclothes were all askew. She would need a good quarter hour and a maid to put herself to rights.

“You hide,” he said. “I can handle this.”

She looked up from her skirts to see Adrian already had his shirt back on and was shrugging into his coat. His cravat was loose, but that was a small thing. At that moment, Sophia envied the male species exceedingly.

“Lord Smythe?” Cordelia called again. The agapanthus moved, and Sophia dove behind a rosebush, stifling a curse when her hair caught and pulled painfully on the thorns. She tried valiantly to restore her gown without rustling the hydrangea or the lilies. At least the garden smelled good. She’d been forced to hide in far worse circumstances—the Paris sewers came to mind, and she was thankful for the sweet roses, even with their thorns.

“I’m right here, Cordelia,” Adrian was saying.

“Oh, Lord Smythe. I—is everything all right?”

Sophia raised her eyebrows. Was that a note of interest in Cordelia’s voice? Adrian was standing with his cravat loose, his hair tousled, and his shirt unfastened about the neck. And yet, Cordelia didn’t sound as though she thought it strange he was disheveled. She sounded as though she thought he looked good enough to eat.

“Perfectly fine. I was looking for Lady Smythe. Have you seen her?”

“No.”

Now there was the tone of voice Sophia expected from Cordelia. Sophia managed to right her petticoat and began the arduous task of arranging her stays.

“Ah.” Adrian moved away from the bench and the rosebush concealing Sophia. “Perhaps we should look for her inside. The hour grows late.”

“It does. Edward is already asleep, and most of the guests have left.”

Sophia scowled and yanked her dress over her bosom. Now she had to do something about her hair.

“How rude of me. I’ve been out here enjoying your garden.”

“If I’d known you were alone, I would have come and kept you company.”

Sophia almost burst into laughter. Did Cordelia really think she was enticing Adrian? If she thought he was the kind of man who would betray his brother with the man’s own wife, Cordelia didn’t know Adrian at all. But of course she didn’t. Sophia hadn’t known him herself. She smiled. He’d always been faithful to her.

She stuck the last pin in her hair and, hiking her skirts, crouched down to move farther away from the bench. She wanted it to seem as though she was entering from another part of the garden. She knew her clothing still looked somewhat awry, but she’d had to change clothes quickly on so many occasions that she could gauge whether or not her appearance would pass. She smoothed her hair and stood straight.

“That’s quite all right. I enjoy my solitude,” Adrian was saying.

“Lord Smythe, there you are.”

The smile on Cordelia’s face faded as Sophia skirted the lavender and sweet pea and came into view. “Oh, Cordelia, you are here, too. Darling…” She reached for him, and he took her hand. “Are you ready for home?”

“Yes. Home and bed.” He winked at her, and Cordelia inhaled quickly. Sophia had to hold back a laugh. And all this time, she’d assumed Cordelia didn’t like her because she was the viscountess. But the other woman was jealous of her marriage to Adrian. Sophia had never seen it before. She’d never seen Adrian before.

Cordelia led them through the garden, her eyebrows winging up when she caught a glimpse of Sophia in the glow of the chandelier. But Sophia only smiled and took the mantle the butler offered. “Good night, Cordelia,” she said. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“We should have our own dinner party,” Adrian said.

“Oh, yes! Do!” Cordelia answered, eyes shining with expectation.

Sophia looked at Adrian and tried to imagine Agent Wolf and Agent Saint hosting a dinner party—worrying over seating arrangements, place cards, and stationery for invitations, and hoping they weren’t called away midmeal to stop a Belgian assassin. Adrian must have guessed her thoughts, because he began to laugh. She followed. Cordelia frowned at them and shook her head as they made their exit.

A few moments later, Sophia was seated across from Adrian in the Smythe carriage. Adrian closed the curtains and moved beside her. “Now, where were we?”

The next morning, Adrian sat at the dining table with the
Times
in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. He did not drink tea. He’d learned to prefer coffee in Morocco. The sideboard was buckling from the amount of food Cook had produced so he might break his fast this morning, and he had already finished a plate of eggs, ham, and black pudding, and he was thinking of making another pass to try the scones and clotted cream.

“Are you going to eat all day or help me catch a killer?”

Adrian glanced up and raised a brow at Sophia, who was standing, arms crossed, in the dining-room doorway.

“And good morning to you, Lady Smythe. Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m not hungry. Should I go on without you?”

He was hungry. One look at her, and he was famished. Had it been only two hours since he’d left her warm bed? It felt like years. He wanted to drag her back.

He studied her in her prim walking dress of burnished red. With her chestnut hair and chocolate eyes, the color suited her. She wore the same hat she’d worn to Hardwicke’s office—remade with a plume matching her dress—and looked, he thought, quite businesslike. Perhaps that was what appealed to him. He knew the soft, warm flesh that lay underneath that prim, high-necked gown.

She slapped her gloves into her palm and raised her brows. “Am I to expect an answer, or shall I just stand here while you ogle me?”

“There’s much to ogle.” He grinned. “You look beautiful.”

Nothing in her expression changed, so he could not tell the effect, if any, of his words.

“Sit down. Have breakfast with me.” Bloody hell. Could he stop being so polite?

“I’d prefer to start for Mr. Linden’s residence. The hour grows late.”

Adrian sipped his coffee, wondering at this impatience in her. Was it the Jenkinson case, or had he done something to provoke her? Or was it something else entirely? He felt the awkwardness between them. It was one thing to reveal oneself fully in the dark but quite another to drop all pretense in the light of morning. Sophia, unsure of her new standing, was standoffish. He was all politeness. They’d slipped back into their usual roles.

“It is barely ten,” Adrian pointed out with a glance at his pocket watch. “A bachelor like Linden will not even be out of bed yet. And even if he were, I see no reason to rush to speak with him. I know Randall Linden. He didn’t murder George Jenkinson. He’s far too indolent to go to the trouble.”

“Very well.” Sophia pulled her gloves on. “I will go alone then.” She turned, and for a moment, he stared at her back.

“Bloody hell.” He had long ago abandoned Plan B with her. He was contemplating devising a Plan C, but he rather thought he’d be doing well at the moment just to keep step with her. He was up and after her in a matter of seconds, catching her as Wallace opened the door.

“What is bothering you this morning?”

“Nothing. I simply want to do the job Lord Liverpool assigned me.”

If it was nothing, he would eat his cravat. He thought back to the night before. Somehow Sophia had managed to evade him in the carriage and then again when they arrived home. He considered it a small—very small—victory that he’d been able to coax her into allowing him to share her bed. But she had managed to keep him from making love to her as he wished—making love to her fully.

He’d tried to persuade her, gently, but she’d put him off… and then done things to him with her mouth and hands that made him almost forget the idea of being inside her. Almost.

He’d fallen asleep more than sated, and yet even as he’d held her in his arms, he felt there was still something between them, something still separating them.

He felt it even more keenly this morning.

Adrian glanced at Wallace. “Have Jackson bring the coach around.”

Sophia shook her head. “I prefer to walk. The weather is lovely this morning.”

Adrian clenched his fists. First she was in a hurry to go, and now she preferred to walk. “Very well.” He gestured to a footman. “Fetch my walking stick.”

“You needn’t come with me,” Sophia said again. “When I return, I’ll be happy to share what I’ve learned.”

“I’m coming. But first I need to retrieve something from my study. Stand there and do not move.”

She frowned at him, and he could see her planning her escape already.

“If you leave without me, madam,” Adrian growled, now impatient and out-of-sorts himself, “I will find you, and the consequences will be most unpleasant.” Without another word, he stomped to his library, retrieved his Manton pistol, and on his way back to the vestibule, took his walking stick from the footman.

Sophia was still standing there, looking somewhat perturbed. But she had waited. Small victories.

“Wallace.” He nodded to the butler who opened the door. “Madam.” He offered his arm, and she took it. They descended the steps of the town house together, looking every bit the fashionable
ton
couple out for a stroll. Except he had a pistol, and his walking stick concealed a knife. He didn’t know what weapons Sophia had with her. Several, he imagined.

“What did you need from your library?” she asked when they were on the walk, heading toward St. James Street near where Linden rented a flat. The St. James area was a strictly male preserve, housing the clubs and gaming hells the young bucks preferred. It was bad
ton
for a lady such as Sophia to be seen on St. James, but Adrian did not think Sophia would care. And as it was daylight and he accompanied her, he did not think anyone who saw her would comment.

Not that he cared what other men thought of his wife.

“I wanted my pistol,” he said, finally answering her question.

She glanced at him, raised her brows. “Do you anticipate trouble?”

“No. I like to be prepared.”

They walked along Charles Street in silence for a few moments, nodding to those of their acquaintance—almost exclusively ladies—out paying morning calls. Adrian took in their fashionable gowns and hats, their flirtatious smiles and lowered eyelids, and felt nothing. Curious that he didn’t feel even a remote interest. This required further analysis. He thought for a moment and surmised the reasons for his indifference were twofold. First, Sophia was far more beautiful than any of these women. Second, she was far more exciting. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t note the beauty of other women, but his deductions led him to conclude he had the woman he wanted beside him.

If only he could be certain she wanted him.

For some reason, that was a question he was hesitant to ask. He wasn’t certain how to bring back the intimacy of the night before.

“What weapons did you bring?” he asked. “Besides your biting wit and poisonous tongue.”

He caught the ghost of a smile on her lips before she said, “A dagger and a small pistol, in addition to my natural attributes, which you so eloquently described.”

“Ah. Do you expect trouble?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Always.”

They continued in silence for a few more moments, turning onto Berkeley Street. Adrian still felt awkward. Sophia didn’t want to discuss what had happened between them the night before, but now he did. He couldn’t allow her to shut him out again.

“Last night…” Adrian began.

“I don’t think we should discuss it,” Sophia said before the words were even out of his mouth. “We need to focus on the mission.”

“I’m able to do both.”

She pressed her lips together, tacitly admitting his victory. No matter how much she wanted to avoid the topic of their night together, he knew she wasn’t going to say she couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time.

“Mr. Linden is a friend of yours,” Sophia said, obviously trying to avoid his chosen topic. Very well. He’d allow the evasion and plan another method of attack.

“Not a friend, but I knew him at school and see him at my club on occasion,” he answered.

“So you do have a club.”

“He’s not our murderer. He has faults aplenty, but he didn’t kill Jenkinson.”

“Because he’s too lazy.”

They were nearing Piccadilly, which was quite congested. Men and women of every class hustled past one another on their morning excursions. Merchants plied their wares—flowers, muffins, oysters, warm meat pies, the smell of which made Adrian’s stomach growl. Carts and carriages raced past, adding to the noisy tumult. And the smell was a mixture of manure, roses, unwashed bodies, and the meat pies his stomach hadn’t quite forgotten.

Instinctively, Adrian pulled Sophia closer, and then gritted his teeth when she gave him an indulgent smile. She may not need his bloody protection, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to provide it. She was still his wife, even if she was a trained agent.

“Linden is far more interested in drinking, gambling, and seducing women than in murder. He runs with the Byron set,” Adrian told her, resuming his analysis of Linden.

“Lord Byron? The poet?” Was that a hint of interest in her tone?

“Yes. I don’t claim Linden is as dissolute as Byron, but he’s not far behind. Mrs. Jenkinson chose the father of her child poorly.”

Byron had recently separated from his wife, and allegations of perverse practices were whispered behind every fan. He was indeed “dangerous to know,” as Caroline Lamb had claimed, and any association with him was grounds for exile from the most fashionable circles.

“Byron isn’t as bad as everyone claims,” Sophia said, nodding to Lady Something—Adrian couldn’t remember her name, though he knew he should.

“Don’t tell me you know Byron.”

“I’ve met him on occasion.”

“Of course you have.” He was the most depraved man in England, and Sophia was probably exchanging letters with him. “But Byron isn’t our concern. Linden is, and once you meet him, I dare say you’ll agree with my assessment.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Good. Now that we’ve addressed that issue, what happened last night?”

She stumbled slightly then quickly recovered. She smiled at him. “Did you want the names for the acts or a summary of the liaison?”

“You know what I mean. What happened when we returned home?”

She blinked as though thinking. “We retired to my bedchamber—”

“No. I had to practically demand entrance. You tried to shut me out again.”

She scowled at him. “I did not. I was tired.”

“You proved quite energetic once I was in your bed.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Hell, no, he was definitely not complaining about that. “But I get the feeling you only…” He eyed a passing matron. “You did what we did only to distract me from my true objective.”

“And what was that?” she asked, all innocence.

She was no innocent. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I wanted to be inside you.” He heard her breath catch and continued. “I wanted to feel you close around me, feel you tighten when you—”

“Adrian.”

He smiled. Her voice sounded slightly breathless. “You asked.” He drew her aside so that her back was against that of a bookshop. The merchant selling apples in the cart beside them gave them a curious look and then continued shouting, “Apples! Fine, ripe apples!”

“You want me, Sophia. Admit it.”

She glanced at the apple cart. “I think I showed you last night. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to, my lord. I—”

“My name is Adrian.”

“I know.”

“Use it.” He braced both hands on either side of her, not caring who saw them or how many eyebrows they raised. He doubted Sophia cared overmuch, either. “I like how my name sounds coming from your lips.” He put his gloved finger on her ruby lips, parted them slightly. “I’d like to hear you scream it when I’m inside you.”

“Pardon, gov.”

Adrian glared at the apple merchant.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, yer lordship, but I’m tryin’ to sell me apples here. Yer scaring away my business.”

Adrian reached into his pocket and found a pound note. “Here.” He handed it to the merchant, whose dirty hand snatched it even as his eyes went wide. “Go stand over there for a minute.”

“I will. And for that, I’ll make sure ye get a bit o’ privacy.” He planted himself in front of Sophia and Adrian and began saying, “Move along now. Nothing to see here. Apple?”

Adrian rolled his eyes and looked back at Sophia, who was smiling. “You were saying?”

“I want to be inside you.”

“This isn’t the time or the place.”

“And apparently your very private bedroom under our own roof isn’t the time or place, either. Why?”

She looked down. For the first time since he’d learned she was a spy, she looked embarrassed. “I told you before. I—I can’t.”

The quaver in her voice, the way she avoided his eyes, the way she obviously enjoyed lovemaking but refused to complete the act. Suddenly, it all made sense. “You’re afraid you might conceive again.”

“I—” She looked down. Adrian could have sworn he saw the shimmer of tears on her lashes, but an instant later they were gone. “Yes.”

Her words shocked him. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, comfort her, but even with the apple seller shielding them, that was too bold an action. He settled for putting his hands on her shoulders. The Sophia he was coming to know wasn’t afraid of anything. To hear her sound so fragile roused his protective instincts and quelled his annoyance at being told no by her. He hated being told no, but this was no longer about him. If denying him was what Sophia needed, then he could put his own desires aside. He was not so much a bastard as to think only of himself.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes dry. “I can’t lose another one, Adrian. I won’t survive it.”

“You would.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You’re strong, and you have me—really have me—now. We’ll get through it.”

She was shaking her head.

“Sophia, what if you didn’t lose the child?”

She glanced up at him, and he saw the flicker of hope in her eyes.

“Sophia, I want a child. I want something that’s part of both of us. I want the family I never had.”

She shook her head. “I can’t give that to you. I’m sorry. I know I’ve failed you, failed as a wife.”

“No—”

“Lady Smythe?”