As he began to dress, Lyra sat up and pulled the sheet around her, suddenly self-conscious. “You’re not…leaving, are you?”
He began to fasten the row of buttons on his shirt, his focus intent on his task. “We don’t need the servants to talk unnecessarily,” he said slowly.
It wasn’t until he shrugged on his jacket that she finally found her voice. “So that’s it? You come here and make love to me—”
His dark eyes lifted. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“Wasn’t it?” she shot back. Throwing on her robe, she went over to the window to stare out at the darkness beyond. The void seemed to creep in to fill the emptiness in her heart and drive away the last of her glorious afterglow. “Surely after what we just shared you don’t believe that I could still be guilty of treason?”
She heard a heavy sigh behind her, although he didn’t deny it. “Lyra, I never meant to hurt you—”
She turned back to face him. He was standing across the room, already fully dressed, his hands on those narrow hips. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
He clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“But you’ll still go.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
The hurt brought about by that single word was acute, and even though she knew that he had to leave, it didn’t lessen the pain. “I guess it’s all rather ironic if you think about it.”
His eyes were intent. “What is?”
Lyra’s eyes were steady when she regarded him, but her voice quivered. “I suppose I did get part of what I asked for. I wanted to know what it was like to feel passion and desire, and to love and be loved. I just didn’t know it would be one-sided.”
As his eyes filled with a horrible combination of guilt and pity, she turned away once more. Her back was stiff when she said firmly, “Goodbye, Alister.”
She closed her eyes for several minutes, but when she finally risked another glance behind her, he was gone.
* * *
“A bottle of your best and strongest scotch.” Alister barked his order at the server, who quickly scurried off. Whether it was due to his tone or the ferocious scowl Alister likely wore, he couldn’t be sure.
He seldom frequented White’s, even though it was a rather exclusive gentleman’s club and membership was highly coveted. Originally a teashop under the name ofMrs. White’s Chocolate House, the name stuck even after it was converted to the gaming house it was now. Some of the most notable men of society passed through its doors, but Alister wasn’t here to socialize. He was here to get blurry-eyed and thoroughly drunk.
A quick glance around showed that, even at such a late hour, it was still heavily occupied. Lord Alvanley was seated at the historic bow window with a few of his cronies, likely discussing which wager to write next in the infamous betting book. He recognized most of the faces around him, but his dark expression kept them all at bay.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or it is actually the Duke of Albright?” Lord Sussex drawled in a mocking jest.
Alister merely snorted as Drayven sat down across from him. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something constructive?”
“I assume you’re referring to our mutual friend?” the marquess returned dryly. “Rest assured I am quite on top of things. He’s over there.”
With a slight tilt of his head, Alister looked beyond his fellow agent to see that, indeed, Richard Coventry was at the other end of the room. In fact, it appeared that he was embroiled in a high-stakes card game. Instantly, Alister’s eyes narrowed. He was just in the state of mind to walk over there and give the man another lesson in proper manners.
The waiter took that moment to return. “A 1797 Glen Garioch Reserve, Your Grace.”
Drayven gave a low whistle as the server left the rare bottle and a delicate, cut crystal glass behind. “That must have put quite a dent in your coffers. Are we celebrating, or drowning our sorrows?”
Alister poured a hefty draught of the amber liquid into the glass. It was most definitely the latter, but he didn’t care to discuss Lyra with the man before him, who was much too observant for his own good. “It’s not any of your business.”
“Ah.” Drayven crossed one leg over the other, a smirk crossing his face. “In that case, it must be about a woman. Anyone I know?”
Alister took a large swallow and glared at the other man over the rim of his glass. “You know, you talk too damned much.”
The marquess merely chuckled. “Of all the things I’ve been accused of, I do believe that’s a first.”
Alister sat back in his chair. “Why don’t you just leave it alone and tell me something useful about the case.”
