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He moaned again, his hips thrusting under her, pressing harder into her. He started to roll them onto the bed, but she stopped him.

“No, like this.”

She trailed her hand between the two of them, gripping his cock before running her thumb slowly, teasingly over the head. Fire flashed in his eye, and he scooped his hands under her thighs to lift her slightly and resettle her a little higher in his lap.

“This?” he asked.

Instead of answering, she guided his cock to her and sank down on it.

They both groaned, stilled for a moment by the powerful sensation of their joining. She clung to him, her breath coming in short, fast pants along his neck. She could lie to herself and say that this was as uncomplicated as two people finding satisfaction in one another, but it was not as simple as that. Nothing was when it came to Andrew.

He felt vital to her, as though her body had been missing him all those years, but it was her heart that needed him most. A part of her had broken that day she’d spotted him, the man who was supposed to be dead. She’d known the moment she saw him that he knew of her betrayal—that he would think of it as nothing less than the worst treachery. She’d wanted to explain, but how could she? And so instead she’d let him tear her down and throw her broken promises in her face. She could take all of that because, in her heart of hearts, she knew it was true. But it was when he questioned her love for him that her heart had finally shattered.

Simply being near him the last weeks had healed a part of her she’d never thought would mend.

Slowly, Andrew ran his hands up her back, hugging her to him, and then he thrust. The quick spread of heat through her core chased away all thought, and her hips canted up before plunging back down on his shaft and burying him a little deeper. A wordless sound escaped her lips and she let her head fall forward against his shoulder.

He clasped her to him and rocked them, his cock stroking over and over. She could live like this forever, wrapped up in his arms while she rode him, the balance of control shifting back and forth between the two of them as they both strove toward their pleasure. Then, all at once, the pleasure and tension building in her body sharpened, and she was there, coming hard against him. Heat rolled through her, her eyes fixed on the spot where their bodies met. She ground her hips down on him, gripping the back of his neck as she was pulled along.

She was almost limp in his arms, every last sensation strung out, when Andrew gripped her hips, shifted her a little, and thrust shallow and hard. When he pulled out of her, he choked out her name and whispered it again and again.

They stayed, arms wrapped around each other, for longer than she could say. As she listened to their steadying breaths with her head on his shoulder, a truth kept running through her mind.

I’m falling in love with him again, but it is too soon.

It would always be too soon. The wounds they’d given each other were too deep, and Andrew had made it abundantly clear that after the mission was complete he had every intention of retiring and leaving this place. There was no room in his life for her, and she couldn’t bring herself to demand that he change his plans when she knew what the answer would be.

Instead she would help him in any way she could and try to prepare herself for the pain of the separation that would likely follow. If there was any mercy in the world, it would be brief and she would be left to slowly heal. Letting go of him had seemed nearly impossible after she’d thought him dead; watching him walk away, she could survive. She’d done it once before.

And so she turned her mind to the code she’d found and the contents of Wark’s desk and the quickly decreasing number of days they had before the mission would be over.

Chapter Seventeen

ANDREW SAT IN front of Sir Reginald Palmer-Smythe, commander of the branch of the Queen’s Guard, trying his best not to explode. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gillie casting worried glances in his direction, but he was determined not to blow up. Even if the man was being an insufferable ass.

“The prince won’t have it,” said Palmer-Smythe, who would be attached to the Prince of Wales’s entourage in Edinburgh and had come to the city to conduct the advance work needed to ensure the prince would be safe.

“With all due respect, sir, His Royal Highness’s safety could be at risk—mortal risk,” said Andrew. It was five days until the prince’s arrival in Edinburgh, seven until the ball, and they still weren’t any closer to figuring out what Wark’s plot was. He and Gillie had finally secured an interview with the commander, and they’d arrived that morning hoping that the man would see reason.

They could not have been more wrong.

“Nothing you’ve said to me this afternoon has convinced me that there’s one bit of credibility to this threat,” said Palmer-Smythe, his mustache twitching with displeasure.

“There has been a significant amount of activity at the home of Harold Wark, a man who was found with a cache of weapons,” said Gillie.

“Harold Wark?” Palmer-Smythe snorted. “The man is on the prince’s organizing committee.”

“Which gives him an unprecedented amount of access to the prince during his stay,” said Andrew. “And access to the prince’s private schedule.”

“We have reason to believe that an attack will come at the ball,” said Gillie.

“If there’s an attack, which you have not convinced me is imminent, why would it be there?” Palmer-Smythe asked.

Andrew and Gillie exchanged looks. They had nothing more than their gut instinct to go on. Despite Lavinia’s efforts, they were still guessing and praying they weren’t wrong.

“Access,” said Gillie.

“And the opposite can be said for the ball,” said Palmer-Smythe. “Invitations only went out to the highest ranking of Scotland’s society. Every man there will be either a gentleman of impeccable breeding or a titan of industry. Mr. Wark is one of those men. So is the Duke of Livingston, at whose house the prince will dine that evening before attending the ball. He will be with the prince for a considerable amount of time, even allowing the royal carriage and the prince’s staff to rest in the mews behind his home while the prince dines. Does that make him a suspect? I should think not.”