Agatha rolled to her stomach to face him fully. “I wish I could be a Liar.”
A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You’re a lady.”
“I’m a woman.”
“Too bloody right. But you were meant for better things than what I could give you.”
Agatha snorted. “What do you see me someday as? Another Lady Winchell? All scrawny fashion sense and cynicism? Betraying my husband under his very nose? Throwing endless boring parties attended by useless boring people?”
“Well, when you put it like that, I don’t know how you can resist the prospect.” He tugged her closer and she came, bonelessly adapting her body to his. He loved the way they fit together. “I thought you said you liked London.”
“I like you. I like the excitement of working with you. I even like the club. But the idea of being some gentleman’s ornament leaves me cold.”
He hated it, but he had to say it. “Etheridge wouldn’t treat you that way.”
She lifted her head and stared at him. Then she pressed her lips to his shoulder again—and bit him.
He retaliated with a tickle attack on her ribs that left her giggling helplessly, her head hanging off the bed, hands weakly fending him off.
When he’d pulled her back into his arms, she used his chest to dry the tears that laughter had left on her face.
“Simon, do me the favor of staying out of my love life. If I want to marry someday, I’ll do the choosing.”
“But you will marry, won’t you?”
She gave a frustrated feline growl. “Simon, leave it. My future is quite secure. You’ve no need to worry.”
“You shouldn’t be alone. You were made to be loved.”
She was still for a moment. Then she whispered softly, “That may very well be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He held her in silence after that, as they listened to the city awakening outside. The servants would be stirring downstairs by now. Agatha knew she should go back to her room.
She should, yet she stayed, thinking about their pasts and how they had come from such different worlds to meet here on Carriage Square.
And what were they now? Lovers, with the future an uneasy subject between them.
“You should go,” he said finally.
“Definitely.”
“One kiss,” he demanded.
Carefully, aware of the fragility of what they had begun this night, they kissed.
Simon ached to keep her there. To close out the world and stay in bed for days, drinking her in.
The power and the potential of what might lay before them both humbled him and devastated him that it could never be. As he ran both hands down her neck and over her shoulders, he made a silent vow to her that she would always know how beautiful and precious she was when he made love to her.
Then she was gone, slipping away with a smile that made him hurt inside. And he was alone.
Of course.
* * *
That morning, the tension over the breakfast table was thick. Simon was very aware of Agatha seated at the end of the table, but he couldn’t look at her for fear of betraying his need to steal her away to someplace safe and very, very private.
When James entered late and plopped into the chair opposite him with an insouciant, “Good morning,” Simon’s frayed temper snapped.
“Finally up, layabed? What sloth. I can’t believe I ever thought you were qualified to take over the club.”
James stopped with a forkful of eggs an inch from his open mouth. “What did I do?”
Simon sat back and folded his arms. “You let her out of the house yesterday.”
James shrugged defensively. “She was gone before I woke. Hell, she was gone before the sun awoke.”
Agatha broke in, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry I worried you, Jamie—”
“I wasn’t worried. Pearson told me she was with you, Simon.”
“But she wasn’t with me. She was tailing me.”
Agatha made an exasperated noise. “Am I not here?”
Simon didn’t look at her.
James grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she?”
“Not good enough to keep herself out of danger.”
“I must not be here. How annoying.” Agatha put down her fork.
“There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist, Simon. Feebles was right behind her.”
Agatha leaned forward. “What? What’s a Feebles?”
Simon ignored her question. “Feebles is a courier, not a bodyguard.”
“He’s pretty good with a knife in a pinch.”
“Street fighting. He’d go down quickly against trained men.”
Agatha was looking from one man to the other in confusion. “Wait, do you mean to say that someone was following me?”
James had lost his smile and was eyeing Simon narrowly. “Any of us could go down against trained men, Simon. Even you.”
“The point is, James, that you didn’t keep her—”
A piercing whistle cut the air, and both men turned in surprise. Agatha removed her two fingers from her mouth and smiled sweetly.
“Hello. I am Agatha Cunnington, and this is my house. If you must pretend I don’t exist, you may go elsewhere to have this discussion. Without my cook.” Her smile turned slightly feral. “Is that perfectly clear?”
“Of course, Agatha.”
“Sorry, Aggie.”
“Thank you. Now, I would like to know why I was followed by a Feebles.”
James shrugged. “He’s a Liar, assigned to watch the house. I thought you knew.”
“How would I know that? Do I pluck knowledge from the thin air like a mystic?”
She turned to Simon. Her gaze was fond, but annoyed all the same. “Simon, is there anything else I should know?”
“Feebles is the day man. Kurt is night watch.”
“Kurt? The lovely cook from the club?”
James sputtered. “You took her to the club?”
Simon tilted his head and eyed James for a moment. “My dear fellow, your sister not only followed me to the club, she gained entry without my knowledge, then persuaded Jackham to give her a job and the keys to his office.”
Awestruck, James turned to his sister. “You didn’t?”
Instead of showing any sign of remorse, Agatha looked positively smug. “I did.”
A look of profound admiration crossed James’s face. “Damn.” He leaned closer to Agatha and whispered, “What did Simon do?”
“He kissed me.”
Simon closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands. Hell. “Agatha, why do you never lie when you should?”
James sniffed. “Aggie would never lie to me, would you, Aggie?”
“Not unless I had a very good reason,” she assured him, patting his hand.
Suddenly James did not seem quite so confident. Simon decided to save him. “James, today we are going over every moment of the evening when you were captured.”
Apparently breakfast no longer appealed to his friend, for James slowly put down his fork. “I rather thought we had.”
“Not the way we are going to today.”
Agatha nodded. “Very good. I want to hear this as well.”
James turned a peculiar shade of red. “Aggie! There were some very personal events that day. Things you shouldn’t hear.”
“Oh, you mean the fact that you spent six hours with your mistress that evening? Honestly, James, what in the world were you at for six entire hours? I happen to know it doesn’t take nearly that long. Does it, Simon?”
Simon choked on his eggs. This time it was his turn to redden and look away from James’s stunned gaze.
“Ah, well … perhaps James is correct, Agatha. There’s no need for you to sit in on our discussion. It isn’t likely—”
“You don’t think I’ll be of any use, do you?” Agatha folded her napkin carefully by her plate. “Very well then. I suppose I might take Dalton up on his offer of a
drive.”
Bloody hell. Bloody Dalton and his bloody offers.
Agatha continued dreamily. “He is such good company. And his carriage is enclosed, so I needn’t worry about wearing a heavy black veil all day—”
“I think we’ll be needing your perspective after all, Agatha.” Deliberately casual, Simon kept his eyes on his plate. Still, he caught a movement at the edge of his vision that looked suspiciously like Agatha’s elbow hitting James’s ribs.
“Er … right!” James agreed. “Absolutely. Perspective, the very thing.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Throughout that afternoon Pearson kept all callers away and kept a steady supply of tea and cakes running to the parlor. Simon had spread a map out on the table, and the three of them traced every second of that fateful night.
Agatha was pleased to prove to be of some help, knowing James well enough to ask pointed questions about his habits. Thanks to her, James was able to recall that before he had visited his mistress, he had stopped at a confectioner’s for his lady love’s favorite bon-bon.
“Is this her house, Jamie?” Agatha pointed to a small side street on the map.
“No, it belongs to a friend of hers. She is married, so we took care to be discreet.”
Disturbed, Agatha looked away. An affair with a married lady seemed so tawdry. Agatha was not sure she liked knowing that her idolized brother had the flaws of a normal man.
Simon stood and stretched. “Chocolates are all very well and good, but what I’d like to know is how the Voice of Society knew so much about your activities.”
“Voice of Society?” James looked up from the map. “What are you talking about, Simon?”
“You know, Jamie, that gossip note that runs in the paper. The Voice of Society regularly reported on the activities of the Griffin.”
“I’ll be damned. Is that how all that got out? But no one truly believes that rot, do they?”
Agatha put her hands on her hips. “Jamie, when will you learn not to scoff at any source of information?”
Hoping for reinforcement, James looked at Simon, but Simon only grinned. “She took the words out of my mouth, I’m afraid.”
James shrugged. “Vinnie adores that codswallop, but I’ve never read it.”
Agatha perked up. She’d been waiting all day to learn the name of the mysterious lover. “Who’s Vinnie?”
“Someone I know.”
“Your mistress,” Agatha guessed.
“Well, she isn’t a real mistress. I didn’t keep her or anything. She is merely a married woman with time on her hands.”
Vinnie. Oh, no. Certain knowledge sent a shock through Agatha. “Lavinia.”
“What?”
“Lady Winchell is your lover.”
“Well, yes. You needn’t go all missish on me, Aggie,” James said defensively.
“But don’t you see? Lavinia could be working for the French!”
The two men blinked at her. She spread her hands in her urgency. “Now it all makes sense. Lavinia knew where you’d be that night. She was suspicious of me from the start. Did you ever speak to her of me?”
“I told her a few boyhood stories, but I’ve always been very careful never to give anyone your name or your location. She couldn’t have known about you. You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“But she tried to seduce Simon!”
A knowing expression crossed James’s face, and he shook his head indulgently. “I see it now. You cannot let petty jealousies cloud your thinking. This is serious business. Honestly, Aggie, I’d have thought better of your logic.”
Infuriated, Agatha lashed back. “Honestly, James, I’d have thought better of your taste.”
Frowning, James leaned back. “See here, Lavinia’s not an operative. She’s selfish and shallow and far too interested in fashion and gossip to care about politics.”
Agatha made an appeal to Simon. “You see it, don’t you?”
Simon was eyeing her doubtfully. “It seems very circumstantial, Agatha. But I’ll have someone check out her history if it will make you feel better.”
A verbal pat on the head. She wanted to scream out loud with frustration. “I know that James thinks of me as perpetually twelve years old, but I’d have thought that you would have some trust in my intuition, Simon.”
“I believe in hunches—if one is operating under good information.”
“What better information do you need than the fact that every time we turn around, Lavinia is there?”
“It could be many things. Coincidence. A taste for meddling. Even perhaps attraction…”
He didn’t finish, but she saw the glance he exchanged with James. Blasted male ego. “Oh, of course,” she said snidely. “You are so irresistible that any woman would be insane to care about something as tedious as treason while you are in the same room.”
“Watch out, Simon. This could get ugly,” muttered James, who was carefully backing away.
Agatha ignored her brother. She had Simon in her sights and moved in on him.
“Let me understand you. Lavinia cannot be an operative for the French because she’s a woman, and because she finds you attractive. I, on the other hand, was not only a suspected traitor, but a whore! Now, how can that be, Simon? How is it that Lavinia merits your support, while I only invited investigation?”
Simon stared at her as she advanced. “Agatha—damsel—what’s gotten into you?”
“Don’t you ‘damsel’ me, Simon Rain! Was it because I didn’t strip you naked in the study on first acquaintance? Or perhaps it was that I am not so elegant and refined?”
“Don’t answer, Simon. There’s no way out of that one!” warned James.
Agatha turned her head to eye her brother malevolently. “Get out.”
James saluted her, then turned to Simon. “It’s been nice knowing you.”
His expression puzzled, Simon watched as James let the door shut behind him. “I do believe he meant that literally.”
“He did. I’m sure you’ll wish you had followed him.”
He flashed a smile at her. “Are you trying to intimidate me, damsel?”
“No, of course not.” She came closer and placed both hands on his chest.
Then she pushed, hard.
Simon landed half-sprawled on the sofa. Swearing in surprise, he quickly moved to stand. She pressed him back, finally resorting to straddling his lap to fix him to his seat.
With great precision, she said, “I want you to answer me, Simon. Why was I so questionable while Lavinia is so above suspicion?”
Agatha pressed both hands to his shoulders, pinning him in place for her inquisition. He was going to answer her once and for all. She opened her mouth to badger him again.
Then she felt it.
He was growing hard beneath her. She could feel him stiffening and expanding until he pressed directly against her cleft.
The hunger swept through her, and she felt herself throb in response. She froze there, wanting to undulate upon him, wanting to press his mouth to her breasts until she hardened against his tongue the way he hardened against her dampening center.
But this was not the safe darkness of night. This was not the secluded curtained world of his bed. And Agatha didn’t know what to do with the sweeping tide of hunger that made her hands shake and her sex pulsate with need.
She gazed helplessly into his blue eyes, which had darkened with his own lust. She wanted him. Now. Not tonight, after a day of assumed indifference and heated glances.
Now. Here on the sofa, velvet be damned. With the door unlocked and the daylight streaming through the uncovered windows. Hard and fast—and immediately.
Simon felt the shift in her pose, and what was already hard became harder. Her skirts flowed over his legs like a private screen, and her breasts thrust forward at chin level. All he need do was release himself, and he could take her here, in the middle of the afternoon, with the rest of the household mere feet away.
It ex
cited him deeply, and he knew he ought to wonder at himself, but the ache in his throbbing erection wasn’t letting him think much at all.
When she eased forward to grind softly against him and kiss him with tender longing, he thought he might burst on the spot. Her mouth was soft and a little hesitant. He restrained his urge to kiss her blind and allowed her to set the depth of the kiss.
She grew more daring. Her tongue darted into his mouth in the way that he had taught her, and he felt a rush of triumph that he was the first to earn a kiss like this from her. Then he forgot ego as she pressed more fervently to him and the sweet boldness of her passion left him breathless for more.
His hands slid beneath the froth of petticoats to find the ripe flesh of her thighs. She wore no drawers, a habit he promptly decided to approve of. At the touch of his hands, she gasped.
He slid warm palms upward to clasp her bottom and watched as the desire grew in her gaze. Then he dipped his fingers into the tempting crevice of her bottom, slipping them forward until he felt her dew on his fingertips.
“What were you saying?” he whispered as he slid one finger deeper.
Agatha squirmed, but he tightened his grip on her, filling his hands with sweet womanly flesh.
“I truly … want to know…” She faded, her head falling back as she arched her back to ease his penetration.
She was liquid heat in his hands, and he took full advantage. Almost harshly, he drove two fingers deep within her. She arched against him in response, and he could feel by the way she melted bonelessly into his rough caress that she liked it very much indeed.
He pulled his other hand from beneath the veil of her skirts to satisfy his need to see her breasts. She was ivory-skinned, and he ached to see her nipples glow pink in the brilliance of daylight.
Urgently he tugged down the cap sleeves of her morning gown until the neckline hung from the rigid points of her breasts. Then he yanked it to her waist even as he drove his fingers into her once more.
She arched willingly into him again, offering her luscious flesh so sweetly that it made him ache in more ways than one. That she would give to him so trustingly, so generously, was more than he could ever deserve.
Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01] Page 26
