She was watching him closely. Her gaze traced his face and came back to his eyes, and they stared at each other. She cupped his cheeks and ran her thumbs under his eyes, wiping his tears away, and it thrilled him, these simple things.
“Oh, Simon,” she said sadly. She ran her thumb over his lips. “I’d kiss you, you fool, but to be honest, you still smell disgusting.”
Simon burst out laughing at her unexpected comment. “There’s my practical Christy,” he said. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She let go of him then. “Have you?” she said with a sad smile. “I’ve missed you, too. I wish I didn’t.”
Their situation came back to him like a blow to the chest then. “Yes. I wish that, too.”
But he didn’t. Not really. She was the only thing that had gotten him through Africa. The only thought that had kept him sane. He’d promised himself that when he came back he’d apologize to her. He’d tell her that he loved her, but walk away because it was the right thing to do. But he didn’t want her to think that he hadn’t loved her enough to offer for her. He’d loved her too much.
Now the words stuck in his throat. He could see that telling her would only make matters worse for both of them. For Robert. He cared for Robert now, too. Why was he always hurting the people he cared for the most? The few people that seemed to give a damn about him, too. That seemed to be his lot in life.
“I’m sure you do,” she said. She stepped back. “Can you take care of the rest? I think the water is cool enough now.”
He looked away from her and tested the water, although he didn’t care about the physical pain anymore. He welcomed it. It drowned out the much worse pain inside of him. “Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.” He looked at her then. “Thank you for everything.”
“I haven’t done everything,” she said, brushing away his thanks. “But you’re very welcome.” She went to the door, not looking back at him as she opened it. “I’ll lay out some clean clothes for you.” She closed the door, still not looking at him.
He dropped the linen sheet and stepped into the cool tub, wishing it was hot enough to burn his sins away.
When he returned to his room wrapped in a fresh linen sheet, he caught Christy unaware. She was leaning against the bedpost, her face buried in one of his shirts. At first he thought she was crying, but then he realized she was smelling it. Inhaling it might be a better description.
He understood completely. It was what he wanted to do to her. Every time he was near her, he could smell the faint but distinctive perfume of her, and it was branded in his mind as clearly as the mark on his back was in his skin. Did she feel the same way about him? Although Lord knew he didn’t smell as good as she in the godawful heat of this unusual summer.
“Christy?” he asked quietly. He half shut the bedroom door. He didn’t want anyone else to see what she was doing.
She straightened and dropped the hand holding his shirt to her side. She was blushing furiously. “Simon,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m sorry.” He rather thought he’d be saying that to her for the rest of their lives.
She bustled about, putting his shirt on top of a pile of clothes on the bed. “I’ve gathered what I could. You came with a minimal wardrobe. I assume you thought you’d only be here a short time. The case must be turning out to be more difficult than you all imagined. I sent around to Daniel’s for some things. The agent in charge at the door said it wasn’t a good idea to go to your apartment for anything since they might be watching it and we didn’t want to put anyone else in danger. Although apparently we are watching it, too? It’s all very confusing. But I thought Daniel would probably have something of yours since you were always there so often when I was staying with him.” She stopped abruptly and her gaze cut over to him.
He licked his lips. Her chatter was most likely meant to distract him, but it was having the opposite effect. He was sharply conscious of the fact they were in his bedroom alone and he wore nothing but a sheet wrapped around his hips.
And now she brought up Daniel’s and the two of them together there. It was where they’d fallen in love. Where they’d made love.
He couldn’t have stopped his feet from moving toward her if he’d nailed them to the floor, and Lord knew he was no martyr.
“Don’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t move away.
When he stood in front of her, he stopped. He leaned down and lay his nose against her hair and inhaled deeply. He felt her shiver. “Simon,” she whispered.
“It’s not as I remembered,” he said, his lips touching her silky hair. “At night I’d lay on the floor and I’d imagine the way you smelled. Like violets and cinnamon, and freshly laundered clothes. You still smell like that a little. But now it’s…” He sniffed again. “Roses. Is it roses? I like that, too.”
“Violets are for girls,” she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her. “I’m not a girl anymore. I wasn’t then, either, but I didn’t know the proper way to be a lady. I do now.”
“I hope not,” Simon said. “I never met a proper lady I liked.”
Christy laughed, as he hoped she would, and she turned her face up to him only to discover how very close they were, how simple a thing it would be to close the distance between them in a kiss. “I don’t suppose you have,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Can’t abide the breed,” Simon told her. He stole his arm around her. She felt so good, so right there. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.
He pictured Robert, trying to guilt himself into letting her go, but all he could see was a sleepy, aroused Robert kissing him passionately. That didn’t help. He pulled Christy against his chest and she put her palms on the bare skin of his shoulders, and it was like a match to kindling.
He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they had their arms wrapped tightly around each other and they were kissing hungrily, a year’s worth of passion and longing and misery pouring out of their mouths without words.
When he needed air more than he needed to kiss her, he broke away with a gasp. She was breathing as heavily as he was, but neither wanted to forgo the taste of the other. Simon rained kisses across Christy’s cheek to her ear and bit her lobe, eliciting a moan from her while she kissed his chest and his chin, any part of him she could reach.
“How I missed you, my darling,” he whispered. “How I dreamed of you at night. How I cursed myself for a fool for abandoning you. I loved you, Christy. You must believe me. I loved you too much to ruin your life by marrying you.”
“Simon, Simon,” she moaned. “I dreamed of you, too, my love. I cried each day you were gone, sure you were dead and my happiness with you. Never leave me again. You must promise me.” She dragged his head down to hers and kissed him again. Her mouth was like a drug, and Simon allowed himself to get lost in the haze of pleasure for a moment, but eventually he forced himself to pull away.
“I have to leave you, Christy,” he said, his voice breaking despite his attempt at fortitude. “You belong to Robert now. I made my choice and so did you. He is a good man and I will not betray him.”
Christy ripped herself out of Simon’s arms at his words, and one look at her face told Simon all he needed to know. She looked horrified, ashamed, grief-stricken. “What have I done?” she whispered.
She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and that gesture more than anything broke Simon’s heart in two. “I love Robert,” she whispered. “He is a good man. He is the best man. I will not betray him. I swore I would not. Not even with you, not for you. Never. This can never happen again.”
She turned away and hurried to the door, stumbling only once. When she got there, she stopped, her back to Simon. She smoothed her hands over her hair and down the front of her dress, composing herself. Simon let her have her moment, standing silent as he watched her. He had nothing left to say.
“Supper will be at six,” she said. Then she walked out the door and closed it behind her.
&nbs
p; Robert barely had time to duck into Hastings’s empty bedroom before Christy walked out of Simon’s room. He leaned against the wall next to the door and prayed Christy wouldn’t decide to come into the room where he was hiding. He was trembling. He wasn’t sure if it was rage, or grief, or perhaps shock.
He’d known that Christy and Simon had a past relationship but had never really understood the nature of it. He’d assumed Christy had been the one with feelings for Simon that were not reciprocated in kind, which was why he had rejected her. And why he and Simon had had their own passionate encounter the other day.
But Simon and Christy were in love with each other. Robert had not expected this. He had not expected it to hurt quite so much, either. And it wasn’t just Christy’s betrayal, but Simon’s as well that hurt, which was laughable.
Christy wouldn’t betray Robert, Simon wouldn’t betray Robert, but hadn’t Robert betrayed them both? Were they both using Robert to somehow be close to one another? The thought was sickening.
He put a hand to his churning stomach. He didn’t want to be anyone’s consolation. Christy said she loved him, but she had never passionately declared herself to him the way she just had to Simon. Her love for Robert was a pale imitation of what she felt for Simon. And whatever Simon felt for Robert, it was nothing compared to what he felt for Christy. He had dreamed of her every night in Africa. Robert knew what that meant. He knew Christy must have been the one thing that helped Simon survive the hell of his captivity there.
Robert stepped away from the wall, straightening his spine. He knew what he had to do. He clenched his hands into fists and then relaxed them. One deep breath before he opened the door and left the room.
He’d meant to talk to Christy about the attack this morning. Barnabas’s man had just filled him in. He was sick at what might have happened to her. And now this. He would talk to her about it tonight, and he would handle the Simon problem, too.
Chapter 17
Robert got home later than anticipated. It had taken longer to get the information out of the Turkish sailor than they’d thought it would. He’d been surprising loyal to the Dutchman. But they now had a name—Lucas Van de Berg. A common enough Dutch name, but it was a place to start.
And they knew he was looking for a ship. He’d removed a small cargo of explosives from the Turkish vessel they’d seized today, and he wanted another ship to put it on. The sailor did not know why. As far as he knew, Van de Berg was still in London. It wasn’t the answers to all their questions, but it was more than they knew this morning. There were actually two of Van de Berg’s men among the remaining crew. The rest were exactly what they seemed, simple sailors who had fought with the agents out of fear and a sense of misplaced loyalty to their fellow Turks, and not as part of the Dutchman’s plot.
Explosives for an assassination seemed a messy business. Hastings and Sir Barnabas agreed. Robert had offered to bring it up with Simon before they returned to the Home Office tomorrow to sort through it all. The perfect opportunity to address that other situation as well. And he still needed to talk to Christy about the attack this morning. He’d been trying all day not to think about how close he’d come to losing her.
But when he walked in the house, he knew everything would have to wait until the morning. The house was quiet and the lamp was turned down low in the hall by the door. He headed for the kitchen and a bite to eat. There was a plate covered by a cloth, left for him by cook or by Christy.
He pulled off the cloth and knew it was Christy. She’d sliced two pieces of bread and the butter dish was there, as well as the honey. Cook only left him one slice with butter. He smiled sadly. Soon he’d be back to a one slice of bread life.
After he’d eaten, he slowly made his way up the stairs. Tonight was definitely different than the other night, when he’d come home late and Christy had waited up for him. She’d most likely cried herself to sleep tonight. Or given in to temptation and crawled into bed with Simon. Robert was too much of a coward to go and check.
His own hypocrisy wasn’t lost on him. Hadn’t he spent the night in Simon’s arms just two days ago? God, it seemed longer than that. So much had happened since he innocently offered Simon comfort, and yet he couldn’t blame Simon. Was he to blame? Perhaps. Maybe he had been testing himself and Simon.
He went straight to his own rooms, unable to think about it anymore. He was too tired to think at all.
When he entered his bedroom, he stopped short at the sight of Christy curled up in his bed. She looked peaceful and angelic with her pretty dark hair fanned out across the pale sheets. Her hands were tucked up under her cheek. She looked as if nothing bad could ever touch her.
Robert knew it for the lie it was. Her life had been harder than most. Unloved, unwanted, orphaned, tossed aside by a self-absorbed husband, an uncaring lover, and then rejected by Simon, who swore his love at the same time he said he could not be with her. Why? What was it Simon had said? That marrying her would ruin her life. Robert didn’t understand that. His past as a spy certainly made him less respectable than most, but so did Robert’s profession.
“Robert?” Christy’s sleepy voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Yes, dear?” he asked.
“Come to bed. I tried to wait up, but I was too tired.” She reached out a hand blindly to him, a sleepy smile on her face while she stayed curled up, the covers kicked to the end of the bed in the heat, her eyes closed. She looked…happy. But how could she be when who she really wanted—Simon—was in the bedroom next door? Wasn’t he?
“Stop thinking about the case,” she chastised. Her eyes were open now. She came up on all fours and crawled to the end of the bed. She kneeled there to face him, one hand on the bedpost, still looking sleepy and disheveled, her unbound hair falling around her shoulders. “Come to bed,” she said again.
“Why are you here?” he asked quietly.
“Shut the door,” she whispered. She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t wake everyone.” She had a devilish gleam in her eyes at odds with her angelic looks. She wore nothing but a simple, shapeless nightshift, yet she was temptation itself. He resisted.
“Why are you here?” he asked again. It was a question he’d been asking himself all day. Why had she accepted his proposal? Was it desperation? She could have stayed with Harry; he’d told her so. But she’d opted instead to divorce Harry and marry Robert. Was it merely for the marriage bed? Surely not. She could have taken lovers, even kept Simon as her lover had she stayed married to Harry. His head had been spinning all day trying to make sense of her choice. Why him? Why choose Robert?
“Because I wanted to see you, silly,” she said. “We haven’t had enough time together the last few weeks with this awful case and everyone coming and going. I miss you. Don’t you miss me?”
She pouted, a very pretty pout, a flirtatious pout. She didn’t flirt with him. They’d never needed it. Although perhaps at the beginning they had flirted. Or she had. He’d never been any good at it.
He knew why she was here tonight. Because she felt guilty about what had transpired with Simon this afternoon and she was here to make herself feel better by being with him. And he was just weak enough tonight to let her.
He took a step closer to the bed, and she reached out and pulled him closer still by tucking her fingers in the waistband of his trousers. “Well?” she asked. “Didn’t you miss me?”
She had no idea how much. How frightened he was by the attack on her this morning. He didn’t answer her with words. Instead he closed his fist in the hair on the back of her head and kissed her hard, trying to both punish her and force all thoughts of Simon from her mind.
She wouldn’t play by his rules, however, and pushed her arms up, forcefully making room so she could wrap them around his neck. She imitated his embrace, closing her fist in his hair and kissing him just as hard, upping the ante by biting his lower lip and sucking it like a piece of sugar candy. Robert’s head began to spin as if he’d had too much brandy and he
had to pull away from the kiss to catch his breath.
“Yes,” Christy whispered, kissing his throat as he gulped in air. “That’s exactly how I want you tonight. Please, Robert. Take me like that.”
Robert grabbed her arms and had to pull hard to break her hold on him, dragging them down and off him. He shoved her and she fell back on her hands on the bed, panting. At first she looked angry, but when he began to unbutton his jacket roughly, almost tearing the buttons in his haste, she smiled like a self-satisfied cat.
Robert didn’t take his eyes off her as he undressed hastily, tossing his clothes aside. He never did that. He was normally fastidious to a fault. But he saw no reason to be like that tonight. There was no benefit to it and every advantage to getting in that bed with Christy as fast as he could so he could forget his misgivings and make her forget any she may have. That was all he knew, as far as he could reason in the moment.
When he had nothing left to remove but his trousers and small clothes, Christy sat up and slowly pulled her shift up and over her head, tossing it aside as carelessly as he’d been doing. While he finished undressing, she kneeled naked and unashamed on his bed, waiting for him, her head cocked to the side as she watched him, as if to say, Here I am. Come and get me.
So he did.
He crawled on the bed in front of Christy on all fours and he kept advancing, forcing her back awkwardly. She didn’t complain. She scrambled to untangle her legs so she could lay beneath him. She was panting, and he knew it was from want. She liked this. How had he never known that? Married for months and he’d never realized she wanted to be hunted, stalked, won. She was a prize to be won.
He reached down and hooked a hand under her arm, pulling her with him as he moved farther up the bed, almost dragging her, and she laughed in delight. The sound both pleased him and saddened him. She had never laughed like that in bed with him before.
Mission to Love Page 12
