Halfway to damnation, whispered his conscience.
Halfway to ecstasy, whispered his lust.
With a growl, Simon grabbed his hat and strode from the club. The possibility of having Agatha naked and willing by midnight was more than a plan of action. It was a dream come true, there was no denying it.
Every ache in his body disappeared at the mental image of Agatha in his arms, Agatha in his bed. Need pounded through him, scorching lust with a raw edge of loneliness.
He halted just outside the door of the club and leaned gratefully against the cold iron of the nearest lamppost. He took several deep breaths to clear his head.
The air outside was hardly fresh, but it was full of real scents and noises. The clattering of coach and wagon wheels, the clopping of horses, the ever-present sooty smell of his beloved London.
This was real. This was the world he lived in, the world he needed to protect. His city, his homeland. His role, to deal with the grit and grime of wartime and espionage.
The mission. Focus on the mission.
Find James Cunnington and take him down, by whatever means necessary. Stop a dangerous intelligence leak and protect his country.
Unfortunate that he was fond of the man, but entirely irrelevant. Unfortunate that he was captivated by his target’s mistress, but also irrelevant.
Simon felt himself steady, felt himself grow flinty and cold inside once more, as if the iron of the lamppost were flowing through his palm and replacing the hot blood incited by Agatha’s charms.
He had a mission. This time, he wouldn’t forget it.
* * *
Once her decision had been made to seduce Simon, Agatha found that she was suddenly no longer in a hurry for him to return. She needed every spare minute she could manage.
First, she ordered the linens freshened in both their chambers, for she wasn’t entirely sure where the night would end. Then she took a bath, hiding beneath the water until she remembered her tendency to prune. At which time she promptly erupted from the lather calling for Nellie.
Sitting in her bedchamber wrapped in a satin wrapper and a cloud of lemon verbena eau de toilette, Agatha decided to organize her thoughts.
She pulled a sheet of foolscap to her and uncorked her inkwell.
First, invite Simon to her room. No. Too spider-and-the-fly. She would go to his room.
When? Immediately after he retired? The stroke of midnight?
Heavens, how complicated seduction was. It was a wonder the human race continued at all.
Agatha chewed the end of her quill for a moment. She must decide. Very well, then. His room, as soon as Button had left him for the night.
She heard the chime of the clock in the hall. The day had nearly passed already, and Simon was nowhere to be seen. What if she had used up her favorite bath scent for nothing?
Just as she was truly beginning to panic, she heard Simon’s familiar tread in the hall and the rumbling of his voice. She hopped up to press her ear to the door.
“If Mrs. Applequist is having supper in her room, then I’ll do the same. No, I don’t think I’ll be joining her. You can bring up the food, Button, but then I want my privacy.”
She heard Button respond, but his higher tones didn’t travel as well. Simon’s door opened and then closed.
Agatha sat back, nervously toying with the sash of her wrapper. The time was only just eight. Her own early supper sat congealed on the table in the corner. She had been quite unable to eat.
Shortly Simon would be alone in his room for the night. Alone, relaxed, and ready for bed.
A warm tingle went through her at the thought. Then a cold wash of utter fear. What if she went about it all wrong?
She was country-bred and had been involved in keeping sheep for as long as she could recall. When a ewe was ready and a ram was ready, they simply acted. Surely people did not need lessons on this subject, either?
Agatha heard Button arrive with Simon’s supper. A few moments later, she heard Button leave again.
Determined to wait until Simon had eaten, Agatha began pacing again. After all, one should digest one’s food entirely before embarking on … physical activity.
The thought shook her resolve and she sank to a seat on her mattress. She didn’t have to do this. It still was not too late to back out of her plan—
And lose Simon. Lose her beautiful thief and never see his breathtaking smile again. Never again feel his laugh vibrate through her body or taste the faint flavor of cinnamon on his lips.
Never again experience that unrivaled sense of union that fed her parched soul.
Her resolve suddenly renewed, Agatha stood. That was simply not an option.
She took a deep breath, then strode calmly to the door and stepped into the hall.
* * *
As Simon never went into any fray without a strategy, he was going to take tonight to form his plan.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a thing that would convince Agatha that she should abandon James for him.
The James that Simon had known, and the man that Agatha believed she knew, was altogether a finer candidate for her affections.
James was a wealthy man and an educated one. Although Simon was secure financially and was now well-read, there was no denying his low birth.
James was a gentleman and could move freely among the finest of society. Then again, as a gentleman, James would never marry a ladybird like Agatha, but only break her heart.
Simon would … no, he could not marry her, either. Not to someday put her in danger as his bride.
Then again, James was not here, and Simon was.
She’d be better off with him. He understood her and he understood what it was like to live in the world between the low and the high.
He could do it for his country and save her from herself at the same time. But he wouldn’t keep her, paying for her wares. No, he’d buy this house for her and make it a gift.
Then give her the choice. It wouldn’t be wrong if she came to him as an independent woman, would it? A knowledgeable, experienced woman, who made her decision freely?
Would it be so wrong, to have something warm for himself after all these years? To take pleasure in Agatha’s hot, sweet flesh and giving nature?
She wouldn’t be his whore. She would be his woman, his partner, wife in all but name.
He was fairly confident that he could maneuver his way into her bed, and from there he was sure he could maneuver his way into her heart. She would be better off.
Wouldn’t she?
Simon turned away from his mostly intact supper tray and stood to pace restlessly around the room.
Everything here belonged to another man. The books and dressing table items belonged to James, the clothes to Mortimer. There was nothing of Simon but a tiny sack of cinnamon drops tossed carelessly on the washstand.
As it should be.
Simon perused the books on the shelves once more. These had never been a surprise to him, for he had known that James had a fascination with Daniel Defoe. Every one of the Liars went through it at some point.
Who was this man, this king of liars? A writer, a poet, everyone knew this. Not all of them knew that he had also been a master intelligencer.
Had he been a man of great emotion or a man of cold logic? Artist or artificer?
The questions haunted them all as they struggled with the eternal conflict between being a man and being a spy.
Simon chose Moll Flanders from a shelf and hefted the weight of it in his hands. His own burning question had always been … where had the man found the time?
Idly he lifted the cover to flip through some of his favorite passages. On the flyleaf, he found an inscription in a familiar sturdy script.
For Jamie,
Beloved kindred spirit
A
Kindred spirit. Ice wedged itself deeply into Simon’s gut. How could he sink so low that he would divide her from the man she loved?
Thinking furious
ly, he sat in the chair before the fire without even realizing he had moved, still holding the open book before his unseeing eyes.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be the next man to lie and deceive her faithful heart. Not for himself and not for his country.
Not and remain the man he had worked so hard to become. So that was that. He was finished here.
He could only hope the Liars weren’t finished as well.
Chapter Fourteen
Agatha tapped a stuttering tattoo on Simon’s door with trembling knuckles. Heavens, she sounded like a woodpecker.
“Come.”
His deep voice was even lower than usual. Agatha took firm hold of her nerves and slipped into the room.
Simon sat before the fire with a book open in his hands. He was still nominally dressed, although his shirt was undone and his hair mussed.
For a moment his face seemed grief-stricken in the half-light of the fire. Agatha stopped when a tiny spark of unease unexpectedly flared within her. Then he smiled slightly, and the feeling was gone.
Just a trick of the light, then.
She smiled back at him. He was so perfect. He was just the sort of man who would never let her walk all over him yet never ignore her for more interesting pursuits.
And he was beautiful. Agatha could feel herself breathing faster at the mere sight of him in his loose white shirt and snug black breeches.
He didn’t stand as she approached, but leaned back in the armchair and stretched his long legs out before him. She had seen him nearly naked once. She knew what lay beneath his fine clothes.
She couldn’t wait to see him naked again. Completely.
He hadn’t spoken yet, but only looked at her with his head slightly tilted, as if waiting for her to explain herself.
Considering she stood before him in her wrapper, with a dark and silent house about them, she thought she was making things rather clear.
Still, he was a man, albeit a perfect one. Perhaps a hint.
“I’ve made a decision.”
He shut the book and laid it on a side table, then looked back at her with his hands loosely clasped over his flat stomach.
Still not a word.
“I want to sleep in your bed.” After she’d blurted that out, sheer frozen embarrassment was all that kept her standing there.
That got his attention finally. He sat up straight, pulling his legs from their beguiling stretch and bracing his hands on the arms of the chair as if to stand. But he didn’t.
He watched her carefully. “I assume you are not saying that you wish to switch chambers with me.”
“No.”
“Ah.”
Something flashed in his cobalt eyes, something like triumph mingled with regret. Surely it was only the fire flickering in their midnight depths.
“Well, then.” She stepped closer to him, almost standing between his feet.
He didn’t move. Dark eyes traveled from her hem to her hair, but his hands remained on the chair arms.
Fear of rejection and humiliation coursed through her for the first time. Yet he wasn’t refusing her. And if the evidence straining his trousers was any indication, he wasn’t going to do so anytime soon.
Apparently, she was simply going to have to show him what to do. Feeling suddenly powerful in a new and tingling manner, Agatha smiled.
She moved to stand directly between his knees, and he leaned back a bit in response, still watching her. Agatha could see the smooth skin of his chest gleaming within the undone placket of his shirt.
She wanted to see more. She wanted to see those square shoulders again, wanted to touch his skin to feel the way the muscles rippled beneath it.
As if it belonged to someone else, her hand reached out and slipped beneath the white linen. His body jerked the slightest bit when her cool fingers found his warm flesh, and Agatha’s sense of power grew.
Simon was not as calm as he strove to appear. When her fingers stroked over his skin, his heart had leaped like a stag. Even now, with the faint tracing of her fingertips the only contact between them, he could feel his breath coming faster.
She gathered a handful of his shirtfront, then tugged lightly. He leaned forward at her bidding. When she bent over him to gather the tails of his shirt in her hands to pull it off, he closed his eyes and breathed her in.
Lemon and flowers and lust. He was almost paralyzed by the contrast. He was being seduced. Should he push her away? Should he overcome her tantalizing pace with his own urgency? Should he take control?
Her hands caressed his shoulders and slid slowly down his bare chest. She was so bold, yet she would not look into his eyes. She was staring at him as if she had never truly seen a man’s body before.
Her lips were parted, and she chewed one in concentration as she moved her hands over every inch of his chest. No wonder James hadn’t been able to get enough of her.
It was very seductive, this way she had of making a man feel as though he was the most amazing thing she had ever seen.
Her hands met the waist of his trousers at last. She lowered herself to kneel before him. One by one, very slowly, she undid each button with great attention.
Simon was so hard by then that he sprang from the confines of his trousers with a vengeance, to rise before her eyes.
Her only reaction was utter stillness but for the rise of her arched brows.
Oh my. Agatha couldn’t think past that. Oh my, oh my.
It would never work. Never, never, not in a thousand lifetimes was it going to fit.
Perhaps people were not like sheep after all.
Deciding to attend to that amazing detail a bit later, Agatha tore her gaze away. She sat back on her heels and turned her attention to pulling Simon’s boots and hose from him.
When he was naked but for his trousers, she looked back. He was yet so very large.
Yet still Simon sat watching her. Not touching her, not responding in any other way. Beginning to doubt herself, Agatha wondered if she ought to leave right now.
He must have seen it in her face, for he abruptly leaned forward and took her face between his hands. She felt the warmth of his palms seep all through her body, she was so starved for his touch.
He tilted her head back and gazed into her eyes. His expression was stern and hungry at once. “Agatha, how far are you prepared to take this?”
What? “Good Lord, Simon. Must I draw you a bloody map?”
His lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “No, I think I know where we are headed.”
Then he pulled her mouth to his.
If Simon thought he was on fire before, it was nothing to what he felt when Agatha threw herself into the kiss. Her arms twined about his neck, and she rose on her knees to press herself fervently into him.
She opened her lips and kissed him as hard as he kissed her. When they finally broke for air, she let her head fall back and surrendered to his mouth completely.
The mission was gone, burnt from his consciousness by the fire of his craving. There was only Agatha, soft and fierce, pliant and willful.
And eager. So gloriously, fantastically eager.
When he moved her wrapper aside to continue to feast on her neck, she yanked it off one shoulder with impatience.
When he slid from the chair to tumble her on the rug before the fire, she rolled with him until she lay above him, pressing herself closer still.
Simon’s lips moved over her throat and down her neck to her shoulder. Icy molten shivers rippled through her.
The wrapper slid from her torso at Simon’s urging. He held her by the waist and pressed her away from him to see her better, looking up at her with glazed admiration.
“Beautiful…”
The only thing concealing her breasts was the thin batiste of her chemise. Agatha raised her chin, unashamed to be exposed before him. He wasn’t looking at her like a thing, like a walking bosom.
He wanted her the way she wanted him.
Entirely.
She took her hands from his chest and raised them to the neckline of her chemise where it clung half off her shoulders. Never taking her eyes from his, she slipped it down, baring her breasts for him.
Amazingly, he raised his gaze to hers.
“May I?”
Her deepest heart stumbled and fell into his hands, right then and there. To be asked so respectfully, not stolen from …
“Please.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. The room whirled and then she lay beneath him, splayed on the rug, revealed by the firelight to his gaze and his touch.
He rose above her, gently trapping her thighs between his own, and simply looked at her. Then his fingertips drifted over and around both breasts at once, making her skin tingle and the tips tighten unbearably.
Agatha stretched her arms above her head, granting willing passage to his exploring hands. When his warm palms cupped and raised her, the heat went directly to her own center, and she felt herself tense and throb.
Simon bent over her to take her nipple into his mouth, and Agatha jerked in surprise. Her astonishment was quickly overwhelmed by the pleasure shivering through her. How had he known it would please her?
How was she to know what would please him? For suddenly his happiness was very important to her.
Then a thought occurred that wiped out her pleasure and her purpose. She had based her decision to come here tonight on the certainty that Simon would want to marry her afterward.
What if that wasn’t what he wanted at all?
What if he had other goals? Things that had nothing to do with her? She had manipulated him all along, and tonight was no exception. How could she do this to him if she loved him?
Self-disgust roiled through her. She pushed Simon back and rolled away.
“I’m sorry.”
His face darkened. “What is this game?”
“Not a game, Simon. I am not toying with you, I promise. I have been, somewhat, but not now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, Simon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hired you, sorry I blackmailed you. Sorry I came to you like this rather than tell you the truth.”
“The truth.” His tone was flat, and his face revealed nothing in the glow of the fire.
Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01] Page 15
