by Jane Feather
Aurelia glanced anxiously around the field, hoping a rampant bull wasn’t watching her. A herd of cows were peacefully chewing the cud in the middle of the field, watching her with typical bovine curiosity. But cows did not alarm her, and she could see no sign of a bull.
She set off along the hedge line, drawing her pelisse closer around her as a sharp gust of wind whistled around a corner of the field. It had been a strange day, indeed, but she was now more than ready for it to end. The farm couldn’t be more than a mile away, as long as the hedge ran straight bordering the lane.
She reached the end of the field and climbed a gate into the next one. She was hurrying along the hedge, thinking of fire and her dinner, when her scalp contracted and her heart jumped against her breastbone. Someone was walking on the lane on the far side of the hedge. She stopped, and the footsteps in the lane stopped, too.
Disappointment rose in her throat. She’d so wanted to succeed. She started off again and the footsteps kept pace with her, then speeded up. At the end of the field another stile gave access to the lane, and Greville appeared, leaning his folded arms on the top bar, smiling as she approached.
“Well done,” he said.
“It wasn’t well done at all,” she retorted, unable to hide her annoyance. “You found me after all.”
“Yes, of course I did.” He offered her his hand over the stile. “What did you expect?”
He sounded so coolly self-confident, so complacent, that Aurelia wanted to hit him. She ignored his hand and clambered over on her own, saying nothing. After a minute he said, “Don’t be annoyed with yourself, Aurelia. You did very well. I didn’t see you get in the wagon. I spent a good ten minutes searching the village for you before I realized what you must have done.”
She looked at him. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. “This was your first day out, dear girl, and you surprised me.”
That made her feel a lot better, but she was more than relieved to see the lights of the farmhouse just ahead. They went in through the kitchen, and Mary, tending a roast on a spit over the range, clucked her tongue at them.
“You shouldn’t be keeping madam out this late in the cold, Master Greville. The night air’s not healthy.”
“I didn’t intend to stay out so late, Mary,” he said with a conciliatory smile. “But then I didn’t expect Lady Farnham to surprise me as she did.”
“I’ll go and change for dinner,” Aurelia said, slipping her arm out of his and heading for the door.
“There’s hot water above, m’dear.” Mary turned back to her roast.
In her own chamber, Aurelia closed the door and stood with her back to it taking stock of the day. She drew off her gloves and examined her hands, flexing her fingers, remembering how it felt to hold the pistol, to pull the trigger. Mentally she went through the steps of cleaning the fired weapon and reloading it, as Greville had shown her with painstaking patience.
He was a good teacher, she reflected, tossing her gloves onto the chest and unfastening her pelisse. Patient, although somewhat didactic at times. Infuriatingly sure of himself most of the time, but then he would give her that crooked grin that was utterly disarming, as if mocking himself.
And, sweet heaven, there was no denying how attractive she found him. As attractive as he was intriguing. She’d been attracted to a few men since Frederick left, but not sufficiently to be disturbed by the sensation. It had been pleasant while it lasted, and not particularly distressing when it had ceased. But something about this felt different. As if it wasn’t simply superficial. But it could not be anything else, she told herself firmly. There had been no repetition of last night’s kiss, no seemingly accidental touches, nothing that was not strictly business. They had a task to complete, just that and no more. She found him attractive and that was fortunate considering the charade they were to play. It would be easier to convince her friends of a sudden romantic attachment if indeed there was some truth in it. A lot easier to play the part for public consumption.
With a brisk, confirming nod of her head she went to the armoire to find her other linen gown. She saw that Mary had, as promised, sponged and pressed the dull, farmer’s wife serge that she’d worn yesterday. She would wear it for any future scramblings around the countryside, she decided, and save her London wardrobe for indoor activities.
A deep yawn surprised her as she dropped her grubby gown onto the bed, and she realized how exhausted she was after the day’s exertions. But she was also stimulated, mentally energetic, even if her body ached. And she was famished.
The wonderful aroma of roasting meat met her on the stairs as she hurried down to the front parlor. Greville was waiting for her in front of the fire, a glass of wine in his hand. “Wine?”
“Please, although it’ll probably send me straight to sleep.” She took the glass he handed her. “If I weren’t so ravenous, I’d be asleep by now.” She turned aside to a small table in the window and picked up the sheaf of papers that lay there. A column of words was on one side, a column of numbers on the other.
“What’s this?”
“I thought we’d look at some simple codes after dinner.”
“Ah.” So much for fatigue, Aurelia thought, laying the sheet back on the table. “How well do you know Harry Bonham?”
“Not well at all. We’ve run into each other once or twice,” he answered vaguely.
“In the way of business, I suppose,” she said, watching his expression.
“In the way of business. How long have you known about Bonham’s work for the ministry?”
“Since before he married Nell.” She shrugged and came over to the fire. “We don’t discuss it.”
“I should hope not.” The comment was a trifle acerbic.
“You sound as if you disapprove.” Her own voice had a snap to it.
“I do,” he said shortly. “Bonham’s work is highly secret. I’m surprised he took his wife into his confidence, and even more surprised that he allowed her to share the information with her friends.”
“Perhaps you should ask him for an explanation then,” Aurelia said coldly. “The circumstances were exigent to say the least.”
“They would have to be.” He frowned at her over the lip of his glass. “There will be no such exigent circumstances with this enterprise.”
“I have already given my word.”
He turned and placed his glass on the mantelpiece. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to doubt it. But there is only one cardinal rule in this business, Aurelia. Never trust anyone. Ever.”
“Not even you?” She stared at him.
“You may trust me to protect you as best I can, but I cannot promise in all other respects that you will hear only the truth from me. There may well be circumstances when it will be necessary for me to deceive you, and you should be prepared for that.”
Aurelia was cold suddenly. His gray eyes were dark and unreadable as they looked steadily at her. Harry and Nell trusted each other, she thought. Alex and Liv trusted each other, and both Harry and Alex were involved, albeit in different ways and in Alex’s case for a different master, in the same dirty business of this war that held Greville in thrall. But then she thought how, in the beginning for both couples, there had been no trust, no confidences. Harry and Alex had gone about their business, using Nell and Liv for their own ends, keeping the women in the dark. Until the truth had exploded into the light. And Nell and Liv had had to reconcile themselves to the knowledge that their lovers had not trusted them until trust was forced upon them.
Greville had told her the truth from the outset. He had sought her partnership in his enterprise from the outset. She was under no illusions about their relationship. Perhaps this was better. An open acceptance of reality. No pretense. No emotional traps. She did what she did with full knowledge.
“So you don’t trust me.” It was a flat statement.
“I never trust anyone.”
“So you didn’t tr
ust Frederick?”
Greville sighed and picked up his glass again. He sipped and frowned into the fire for a moment before turning back to her. “I liked Frederick very much, but he understood the rule. One must sever oneself from past ties. In our business we must avoid all talk of family, of our past lives, of emotions. We have to learn to be ciphers as far as possible, men with no history and no friendships. Why else do you think I did not know that his wife was his sister’s best friend?”
“I would have thought that might have been useful to know.”
He smiled, that rueful, slightly self-deprecating smile that never failed to disarm her. “Yes, in this instance, it would have been useful to break the rule.”
“I would have said that it’s always worth accepting that sometimes rules must be broken.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes hooded as he looked at her. “I seem to be breaking one of my cardinal rules already,” he said softly.
Aurelia put her head on one side, her eyes narrowed. “Oh? Which one is that?”
He shook his head as if dismissing a comment that he certainly hadn’t intended to make and drank his wine, glad when the door opened to admit Mary and Bessie with dinner. “Come to the table.”
Aurelia took her seat hungrily, but wondering even through her preoccupation with the offerings on the table which cardinal rule he was breaking.
Greville sliced roast pork onto her plate and placed a crisp, golden wedge of crackling beside it. He served himself and took his own seat. He should not have made that last comment, it was yet further evidence that his guard was slipping. It was all very well to dictate the rules, but it was not all very well to ignore them oneself.
Chapter Ten
THE REST OF THEIR TIME IN Essex passed in a daze, for which Aurelia was grateful. She was too busy, too mentally stimulated, to allow herself the time or energy to dwell on inconvenient sensations around her companion, and Greville seemed to withdraw a little, to create a distance between them. He was the master, she the pupil, and there was so much to learn, so many minute details to be mastered.
By their final evening, she felt in many ways as if she’d become a different person, one who saw the world very differently. Greville had taught her to notice things, tiny details she would probably never have registered in the past. He’d taught her to use certain words and phrases that, while sounding ordinary to anyone else, would convey a specific meaning to him. He’d shown her a range of gestures that he could read across a room. She still disliked using a firearm, but she was no longer squeamish and believed that if it was ever necessary, she could and would pull the trigger. And she was becoming adept at dodging pursuit. True, so far he always came up with her before she reached safety, but he admitted he was finding it harder every time.
The real test would be on the streets of London. She’d have to hope that her now more refined perception would tell her if someone was following her in that maze. Greville had shown her some of the more common practices of surveillance to recognize a follower, but she was by no means confident that she would always get it right. However, as far as she understood this partnership, her role would be merely an extension of the life she lived now. She would be going to the same activities, mingling in the same social circle, but with a specific purpose, as Greville’s eyes and ears. She was as unlikely to be dodging pursuit down the back alleys of London as she was to need to fire a pistol.
“You’ll be able to sleep in a little tomorrow if you wish,” Greville said over their last dinner in the shabby parlor. “We don’t need to be on the road until nine. That will give us ample time to catch the noon coach to London.”
“Not the stagecoach again?” Aurelia grimaced over the lip of her wineglass. “Surely we could hire a post chaise.”
“You may,” Greville said, cutting himself a wedge of cheese. “But I must return by stage.”
“Oh.” Aurelia was conscious of a faint stirring of dismay. “We’re to separate now?” So this was the end of the training. From now on she was to be on her own.
“Only temporarily.” He nibbled at the cheese. “You will take a hired post chaise back to Cavendish Square, having come hotfoot from Bristol, where your aunt has made a successful recovery. I will return to London as anonymously as I left it. And Colonel, Sir Greville Falconer will pay a formal call in Cavendish Square the day after tomorrow.”
Aurelia nodded. “And then what?”
“The first thing I am going to do is sign a lease on a furnished house on South Audley Street. That will serve as my base.” He took a sip of wine. “It would be appropriate for you, once our engagement is announced, to show some interest in its redecoration, furnishings, et cetera. So it will give us a discreet meeting place. It’s not as grand a mansion as Cavendish Square, or, indeed, Viscount Bonham’s establishment on Mount Street, but it’s not without elegance.”
“I’m sure it will suit you very well,” she said, since it seemed the only appropriate thing to say. “And then what?”
“A whirlwind courtship, I think. We won’t have enough freedom of movement until we’ve made things official. We’ve already been formally introduced by Viscount Bonham, so that hurdle is overcome. From now on I shall haunt your door and you will let it be known discreetly that you are not averse to my attentions. In three weeks my aunt is giving a rout party in my honor. I suggest we use that occasion to make our intentions public.”
“Three weeks…that’s such a short time,” Aurelia said with a grimace. “How am I to convince my friends that I’ve fallen hook, line, and sinker in love with a man I’ve only known for a month?”
He said nothing for a moment, looking at her as he sometimes did, as if he were seeing her for the first time, then pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. He came around the table, took her hands, and drew her to her feet. “Perhaps I’ve neglected one aspect of preparation for this mission,” he murmured.
A heady rush of excitement fizzed in her veins, and her belly and thighs tightened involuntarily as she felt her nipples peak against her linen bodice.
He took her face between his hands, stroked the curve of her cheek with a fingertip, traced the contours of her mouth. He bent and kissed her right ear, grazing the lobe with his teeth, one finger moving now to press against the pulse in her throat as her head fell back, offering her mouth for his kiss.
Her arms slid around his waist, her hands flattening against his buttocks as he brought his mouth to hers. She gloried in the taut muscles that seemed to tighten even more beneath her stroking, kneading fingers. His tongue was in her mouth and her own was joined with his in a wild dance of thrust and parry. Her body was on fire, her blood surging wildly in her veins, and the calm and collected widow of Cavendish Square belonged in some other world. Aurelia exulted in the sensation and the knowledge that no one, but no one, from the ordinary world knew where she was or could begin to imagine her as she was at this moment.
At last Greville released her mouth and raised his head. He drew a deep breath and ran a finger over her swollen lips, a rather rueful smile in his gray eyes. “Oh, dear,” he murmured. “I have a feeling I’m going to find it difficult to be as objective as I would like in this enterprise.”
Aurelia stepped back, letting her hands fall from him. She drew a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. Not only had she been unprepared for that flood of physical arousal, she couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything like it before. She had enjoyed lovemaking with Frederick, but that sense of being caught up in a wild, tumbling whirlwind of desire was quite new.
“If we’re to make this romantic interest convincing, perhaps we shouldn’t aim for too much objectivity,” she managed to say.
“Perhaps,” he agreed with a slight twitch of a frown. He stood still, his eyes fixed on her countenance, but this time she had the disconcerting feeling he wasn’t really seeing her.
“What is it?” she asked involuntarily.
He seemed to snap himself
back into the room. “Nothing…nothing at all. But you should get some sleep. It grows late.”
“Yes,” she agreed, moving away from him to the door. “I’ll be down by eight in the morning.”
“Good night, then. Sleep well.” He opened the door. As she passed, he seemed to draw back deliberately, creating space between them. Aurelia gave him a brief smile and left the parlor.
Abovestairs, she packed her portmanteau before preparing for bed, but her thoughts were not on her packing. Greville had been as passionately responsive to that kiss as she had been, he had admitted as much. So why was he afraid to yield to that passion and desire? Was he afraid it would interfere with his work? Was he afraid of any involvement that was not strictly concerned with his mission? She had no answers now, but sometime during the next three months that he expected this mission to last, she would find them. She would be on familiar ground, operating in familiar situations among familiar people, and she would be all the stronger for it.
She went to bed and surprised herself by sleeping soundly. Clearly an unquiet mind was no match for an exhausted body, she reflected when she awoke to bird-song and sunshine. She dressed quickly and went downstairs, only to be told by Mary that Master Greville had already breakfasted and gone out. She was to break her own fast and be ready to leave in half an hour.
Greville appeared in the parlor within twenty minutes, dressed in his farmer’s garb. “Your cloakbag is in the gig, so as soon as you’re ready…?”
“I’m ready now.” It seemed the only appropriate answer. Aurelia abandoned her toast and honey. “I’ll fetch my pelisse.”
“It’s in the hall.” He gestured as he opened the door for her.
Clearly there was to be no hint of a reminder, covert or otherwise, of the previous evening. “If you don’t mind waiting just a few more minutes, I’d like to use the privy,” she said deliberately. “It’s a little more salubrious than those I will encounter on the way to London.”
