“I’m afraid,” he said quietly, “I need to get dressed.”
Her heart plunged.“Why?”
He crossed to the bed, cupped her face gently in his hands, and kissed her forehead.
Not hungry this time.Not seductive.Something far worse.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, throat closing, “what’s happened?”
He exhaled slowly, thumb brushing her cheek.“The Bow Street Runner I hired,” he said.
Every drop of blood drained from her face.
Nicholas held her gaze.“He’s downstairs,” he said quietly, “and he claims to have the identity of B.Adroit.”
The world dropped out from beneath her.
She stared at him, unable to breathe, speak, move.It’s me.It’s me.Two words that should be so easy to say, and yet she could not force them past her trembling lips.
He pressed one last kiss to her brow.“Wait here,” he said softly.“I’ll be back soon.”
He straightened, tossed off his dressing robe, and pulled on his breeches, shirt, and waistcoat before moving toward the door.
He looked back at her once more.“I promise,” he said.
Then he was gone.
Bea was left staring at the closed door, heart pounding in terror, fearing that the truth she had failed to tell him…was about to be revealed in his study, on someone else’s tongue.
