CHAPTER6
A FORMER SPY CONFESSES MUCH
Meanwhile, at the Castlewait townhouse
Jack regarded the nightshirt Persephone had given him with a wince. He rarely wore one to bed now that he was back in London. These days, he didn’t have to spend his nights half-dressed and be ready to move on a moment’s notice.
When he was assigned to a small unit of agents in the Kingdom of the Netherlands, he had grown used to settling on an uncomfortable cot or on the ground, rarely able to enjoy a full night of sleep. As an aristocrat and an officer in the military, he would have been provided a private tent and a clerk or two to see to it he wasn’t disturbed.
As a spy, he didn’t have that luxury.
For the past two decades, he had thrilled at carrying out the clandestine assignments. Excitement at receiving new orders had him looking forward to donning disguises and traveling incognito. Intercepting enemy orders and decoding their messages had provided a daily dose of adrenaline and provided him a sense of purpose his position as Earl of Wilmington couldn’t begin to match.
Now... now he was glad to have his days of deception behind him. Only a month ago, his last assignment in Belgium had resulted in what the Foreign Office was sure would be a turning point in the war against Napoleon and the French.
Although he had suffered a slight wound from a bayonet, he was otherwise undamaged. Despite assurances he could continue his work on the Continent, he received orders claiming his cover was blown and that his services would no longer be required by the Crown.
He had returned to British shores dressed as a commoner. Arrived at his apartment in The Albany finding it much the way he had left it. Resumed life as an aristocrat.
Discovered he hadn’t been missed.
He hadn’t been missed because either someone had taken to pretending to be him, or he was a victim of mistaken identity.
His reputation as a rake, one he hadn’t suffered since before he had inherited the earldom nearly twenty years ago, had returned thanks to someone who had his initials.
Lord JW.
Through no fault of his own, he was suddenly back in the gossip pages. Rumors claimed he was deflowering virgins and having his way with young widows despite his absence from Society. Given he hadn’t been with a woman since his return to England, he couldn’t decide whether he was amused or annoyed by the situation.
Well, after what had happened tonight, he certainly wasn’t amused.
Tossing his coats and shirt onto the back of a chair before removing his shoes and stockings, he headed into the bathing chamber. A candle lamp provided more than enough light to see by given the size of the mirror over a dressing table. Another mirror hung over a console on which a ceramic bowl and a pitcher sat. Steam poured forth from the pitcher as he emptied its contents into the bowl. He helped himself to a linen cloth and doused it in the water. Sighing with satisfaction as he washed his face and chest, Jack was about to help himself to a bath linen when he realized he wasn’t alone.
He stepped to the side to discover Persephone’s reflection next to his in the mirror.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said in a quiet voice.
Jack couldn’t help his body’s reaction to seeing her again, especially given her mode of dress. She wore only a thin silk wrapper tied at the waist, the fabric doing nothing to hide the swell of her breasts or hips nor the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs.
“You’re not interrupting,” he murmured. He rubbed the linen over his face and chest, well aware her gaze had settled on the once-black hair that covered most of his chest. The graying, crisp curls tapered to a thin line of dark hair that disappeared behind the top of his black breeches. “You’re a very welcome sight, in fact.”
Persephone approached him, one hand landing on his chest as she lifted her face to his. Their kiss was quick but thorough, and when she pulled away to allow her gaze to sweep over the rest of his body, she winced. “What happened here?” she asked in alarm, her finger darting to where the bayonet had glanced off a rib.
“A frog got me,” he replied. “Before I could kill him.”
From her immediate reaction, Jack knew she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I did a stint on the Continent. I’ve only been back in England a few weeks.”
Persephone furrowed a brow. “How... how is that possible?” she asked in a whisper.
He kissed her forehead and led her into the master suite. The bed linens had been turned down, the expanse of white an overt invitation. “Tell me, when is the last time you remember actuallyseeingme here in London?” he asked, his own memory that of a night he attended the theatre with his mother while Persephone had been escorted by her husband.
Her brows furrowing, Persephone looked as if she was about to respond and then scoffed. “I suppose it was that night at the theatre. About a week before... before Castlewait died,” she stammered. “You were escorting Countess Wilmington, as I recall.”
“I had already received orders to go to the Continent,” he said as he turned down the flame on the room’s only candle lamp. “I left England two days later.”
Persephone inhaled softly. “I didn’t know you were in the army,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“I wasn’t,” he stated. He had moved to the darkest corner of the room while he undid the fastenings at the top of his breeches. Pushing them down along with his smalls, he stepped out of the garments, well aware Persephone watched in fascination.
