Reactively, he took one, two steps backward. She turned to face him, a rosy blush tinting her skin, her breath coming fast and hard.
Oh, yes, she wanted it, too. But it was she who had put a stop to the madness. Her lips were a firm, determined line as she reached for her dress and slipped the drab garment over her head. Her movements, quick and efficient, contrasted sharply with the soft and languorous moment just left behind.
Thoroughly unbalanced, Nick felt like a rank amateur. And he was supposed to be the teacher. He’d lost focus, pure and simple. It was the sort of gaffe that could cost him his life in more tenuous circumstances. His body aching and bitter with unrequited desire, he snatched up his evening jacket.
Blast. Tonight had served but one useful purpose: a reminder of the man he became around her—the man who could never have enough of her.
A rapid succession of knocks sounded on the door, turning into a haranguing of the door. Necklace still in hand, he pocketed it as he strode to answer before the door came off its hinges.
After a short exchange with a drunk who had the wrong room, Nick turned to find a dressed and expectant Mariana standing with reticule primly held before her. The previous interlude had been wiped from existence. Wasn’t that the fiction best for them both?
“My apologies for the necessity of such dicey accommodation,” he pronounced superciliously, breaking last night’s promise. He needed to batten down his defenses against her. “This place must be quite a come down from your usualmilieufor entertainments.”
He caught a glimpse of bewilderment on her face, but before he could examine it, it turned into something else—something harder and less vulnerable. “I am certain you know nothing of mymilieus, Nick.”
With those words, their past was again their present, implacable and insurmountable. He could forget that for a wild moment a different outcome had felt possible, even inevitable.
“I believe we’ve covered duplicity and guile sufficiently,” he found himself saying.
“Until our next lesson?” she asked. “Soon, the seduction begins.” She swept past him and out the door.
He rushed to the doorway and peered down the corridor’s narrow distance long after she’d disappeared down the stairs, leaving behind only a faint wisp of her scent and a familiar desire that neither time nor distance had erased.
Soon, the seduction begins. Or had it already? He’d never met a more seductive woman in his life.
Never met? Of course, they’dmet. It was such a small word for everything they’d done. They were married, after all. Except the Mariana he’d left ten years ago hadn’t yet developed intothiswoman. She’d always been irresistible to him, but not a seductress.
Seductress. The word landed with a crash. She wasn’t here to seduce him; she was here to seduce another man. The smack of reality struck him hard.
He would do well to remember its impact.
Chapter 10
Island: He drank out of the bottle till he saw the island: the island is the rising bottom of a wine bottle, which appears like an island in the center, before the bottle is quite empty.
A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
Francis Grose
Next Day
One word for the state of Mariana’s being this morning came to mind: crapulent. Hedonism had its drawbacks.
A woman was entitled to slumber the day away when she’d spent the previous night drinking and gambling in a bordello with a pair of strumpets and her estranged husband. She’d earned the right to sleep, and Hortense should have let her. But Hortense happened to be the sort of lady’s maid—and spy . . . they still hadn’t discussed that development properly—who believed in an invigorating and early start to the day.
The girl had taken one glance at her this morning and released a little cry of distress. “Mon dieu! Zee puffs beneath your eyes . . . I shall fetch you a mirror.”
Eyes closed to relentless morning light, Mariana had held up a hand. “Non, Hortense, no mirror. If my head looks anything on the outside like it feels on the inside . . . justnon.” She needed more time to wallow in her crapulence. Last night’s flirtation with whiskey might have gotten the better of her. Yesterday hadn’t been the most auspicious start to her life as a spy.
She heaved a deep sigh of relief when Hortense’s footsteps receded from the bedroom. How on earth could she possibly call on Helene to collect the twins’ letters today? She would have to send the hotel’s errand boy. She couldn’t face Helene in this condition.
Efficient footsteps sounded outside the bedroom, and Mariana stifled a groan of annoyance. Hortense was returning. Through a forest of fuzzy eyelashes, she watched the girl pour a pitcher of cold water into a washbasin before taking a knife to a cucumber and slicing off two thin slivers.
At Hortense’s insistence, she left the comfort of her warm bed and washed her face in the cooling water before taking a seat on a firm chair, allowing Hortense to tilt her head back and place the slices over her eyes. The girl maintained that she not lie back down.
“Non,non, your head must be elevated. Zee bad puff must flow down, down, down.”
It was here Mariana remained for the next thirty or so minutes. She had to admit to feeling somewhat less crapulent sitting here with her head resting back on a firm, cushioned surface with vegetables covering her eyes. They felt nice.
