In a gesture of reassurance, she reached out and touched staying fingers to his arm. “I’m missing my locket and hoped it was in your possession.”
He shot to his feet and began dressing beneath her unflinching gaze. “I don’t recall a locket.” He’d intended to return the locket to her tonight. Instead, he’d lied, and he knew why. He didn’t want to let any part of her go.
Without another word, she slipped off the sofa and strode past him. He allowed her to pass, affording her a measure of privacy as she retrieved her discarded clothing.
He knew what he must say next. “You are ready to engage yourhandsomeandwell-meaningandmisguidedrevolutionary tomorrow.”
A blank pause stretched between them before a brittle laugh burst from her. “Don’t forgetyoung.”
The interlude that had just occurred was gone forever. He would pretend that a pang for its loss hadn’t just stolen through him.
“I passed the seduction lesson as well as breaking and entering?” Mockery sounded in her voice. “Two birds with one stone, to be sure.”
He matched her tone with a sardonic one of his own. “You always were efficient.”
Steeling himself, he faced a fully dressed Mariana, her eyes glittering hard as diamonds. “If you don’t have any further instructions, I shall show myself out.”
“Around that corner”—He inclined his head—“is an unlocked gate.”
Their gazes held for a moment longer than he would have expected. She was angry at having been dismissed so casually. He wouldn’t blame her for slapping his face, given all that had been said and done tonight. He might even want her to slap his face, just for the contact of her skin against his.
She gave a curt nod and disappeared down the path.
Once she was out of sight, he grabbed his overcoat and traced her footsteps down an aisle of shrubbery, around a sharp limestone corner, and through the open gate. At a distance of about twenty feet, she strode ahead of him and cut across the street.
“Do not follow me,” she called over her shoulder.
He elected not to respond verbally, letting his feet do his talking. He would see her safely back to her hotel since his agent had been given instructions only to follow her to the museum tonight.
Had he anticipated the outcome of the night?
He was being disingenuous with himself. Of course, he had. His skin still pulsed with the electricity of her skin against his.
How many years had it been since he’d last felt her? How many years had he spent trying to forget the feel of her?
His eyes trained on her fleeting form, his mind traveled back to the night he’d put a stop to the electricity between them.
Or had tried.
~ ~ ~
London
Midnight, 6 May 1814
Nick stepped across the threshold of his foyer and gave free rein to the impatience and anxiety that had been plaguing him during tonight’s tedious evening of pretend.
For nigh onto a fortnight now, he’d been attempting to draw out an enemy agent who possessed a legendary jealous streak by publicly engaging the man’s lover, an opera singer whose loyalty, and affection, could be sold to the highest bidder.
Tonight, the ruse had finally begun to yield a result in the form of a hotly worded note from the agent. The man had stated in no uncertain terms that Nick was to drop the dalliance. This was expected and played into Nick’s hands. Yet one thinly veiled sentence negated any triumph he might have felt at the breakthrough.
Remember: unlike lovers, beloved wives aren’t disposable.
A single fact was clear: Mariana was in mortal danger. His mission faded into the background, and nothing else mattered. All that mattered was that Mariana was safe, and that he keep her so.
Beloved. The enemy agent’s use of the word nagged at him. For here was what he’d known since the twins’ birth: it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. All he wanted to do—all he ever really wanted to do—was steal into his wife’s warm bed, snug his body against hers, and never let her go.
In his and Mariana’s case, familiarity wasn’t breeding contempt. He didn’t understand how it was possible, but their marriage seemed to be a happy one. It was easy to see how an outside observer might think so, too. Another surge of anxiety pulsed through him.
