by Gayle Callen
“And that monocle? Was even your eyesight a lie?”
“An…exaggeration. I thought it made me look the part. The Lord Chadwick character was created to make me seem foolish and gullible.”
“Then you accomplished your task.”
One side of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Thank you—I think.”
Something didn’t make sense, but as she studied his averted gaze, she realized that perhaps he wasn’t comfortable with his past—and wouldn’t choose to answer questions about it. “If your secret life is behind you, what’s happening now? Who was that man who attacked you?”
“Actually, that was the second time he attacked me.”
“Since you met me?” she asked in stunned surprise.
“Last night he crept in through my balcony door and tried to kill me. That’s why we left so quickly this morning. I wanted to outrun him, but it obviously didn’t work.”
She studied him boldly. “You came into my room immediately after the attack. Did you fear for my safety?”
He returned her gaze. “Yes.”
“So you didn’t come to try to seduce me again.” She hugged her arms over her chest and was surprised to feel hurt.
He reached to cup her face with a tenderness that confused her. “I am overcome by you, Jane. I would spend every moment trying to seduce you if you’d let me. It’s just that last night, I was a bit more concerned with keeping you safe.”
She wondered what he really felt for her, if he was only doing her father a favor in marrying her. The direction of her thoughts made her too uncomfortable.
“So,” she prodded. “This man attacked you twice—the first time in a duke’s home, no mean feat. Why?”
“Because I’ve been asked by another agent to help in a small matter.”
“The old man you were just talking to.”
“No—and of course he’s not really old,” William added, grinning. When she didn’t respond, his smile faded. “There’s another agent who’s in charge of this operation. Sam was relaying messages between us.”
“I thought you were retired.”
“I am. Once this is finished, they’re under orders not to ask anything of me again.”
“But you won’t tell me what it’s all about.” And she was desperate to know, desperate to understand the danger he was leading her into. Her curiosity burned her, made her restless.
“I can’t. It would be even more dangerous for you to know. You can’t talk about this with anyone.”
“But aren’t we bringing this danger to my father’s door? Isn’t he too old for this?”
“He doesn’t know anything about this, Jane, and I promise we will bring him no harm. It will be finished in a matter of days.”
“So I’m just to wait around,” she scoffed, “asking no questions, wondering if men with knives or guns could burst in at any moment—how can I even believe any of this? And how did you think you’d keep such a thing from your own wife?” She threw her hands in the air, feeling her emotions, her very thoughts, spiraling out of control. The woods all around them looked menacing, as if her safe England was gone.
“I’ll keep you safe—Barlow was a soldier too, so you’ll have us both. But Jane—”
He lowered his voice and reached to hold her hand. “—I can offer the only proof I have.”
She stared at him. “What proof?” she finally whispered.
To her astonishment, her gaze dropped to his mouth. He smiled and began to unbutton his coat.
“And what do you think you’re doing?”
“Be patient.” When his coat sagged open, he removed his cravat, then started on the buttons of his shirt.
Chapter 19
Jane felt like another person as William unbuttoned his shirt. She was alone in the woods with a man she’d already proven she couldn’t resist.
Even after tonight’s revelations, she found herself barely able to breathe, remembering what he’d done to her with his mouth and hands, feeling an even newer excitement because he was not at all the man she’d assumed him to be. Her skin flamed beneath her garments, and a newly familiar ache began deep within her.
But she wouldn’t give in to her weakness. She had to think everything through, sort out how she should respond to this new information.
She took a deep breath and said, “I hope you don’t think the sight of your skin is going to somehow distract me from your offer of proof.”
“But this is the only proof I have.”
When his shirt sagged open, she could see little in the firelit darkness, but her mouth went dry.
“Give me your hand, Jane.”
She hesitated, then let him take her hand and bring it toward his chest. Her eyes widened when he pressed her palm against his hot skin.
“How is this proof?” she whispered, though she didn’t pull away.
“Use your senses, Jane, and just feel.”
He slid her palm slowly to the left, up over the hard muscles of his chest. Her fingertips were alive with the sensation of the forbidden, and she was shocked by the knowledge that his heart raced as fast as hers. When her palm brushed his nipple, he inhaled swiftly, his body tense.
But then in the midst of such smoothness, her fingertips encountered a puckered ridge of scarring. In her mind flashed an image of riven flesh, and the pain that must have accompanied it. This was why he hadn’t removed his shirt when she’d bandaged his arm.
Hesitantly, she said, “William?”
“It’s from a bullet.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest beneath her hand. “I figured you’d know that I couldn’t normally get such a thing on a Yorkshire farm. There are other scars, Jane, because my old life was dangerous.”
She wondered if there were scars on his soul, because his voice revealed a bleak honesty that she’d never heard from him before. What had he done as a soldier—as a spy?
He leaned nearer, and his lips gently touched hers, his breath caressed her. Her palm was pressed hard against his chest. Every part of her yearned to kiss him deeply, to take away the pain he must have long ago buried.
But he’d lied to her. He could still be lying.
With a gasp, she pulled away from him. “I can’t do this. I have to—I have to think.”
“I understand.” He slid his shirt closed as a cool wind drifted between them. Quietly, he said, “Would it help to know what I planned to do with myself once this business is done?”
She hugged her arms and said nothing, staring at the fire.
“This past year I’d considered several occupations. It may surprise you to know that I almost went into the profession of the church.”
After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Why did you choose not to?”
“I’ve seen too much death. I didn’t want to see any more on a regular basis.”
She glanced at him, but he was looking into the fire, a reflective tilt to his mouth. Though she was angry with him, it didn’t stop her from wondering about the life he’d led.
“You have your father’s land,” she said. “Was the management of this and your inheritance not enough?”
He shrugged. “It didn’t seem like enough to do. I…needed something. Using another name, I wrote a travel series in a newspaper.” He shot a glance at her. “But I don’t imagine you want to hear that.”
She arched a brow. “Was it not satisfying to educate people?”
“They said I wasn’t very good. I didn’t evoke enough feelings.” He sighed and then smiled. “I don’t seem to do well with feelings.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I tried finance and investments, but—”
“Numbers bore you,” she interrupted sardonically.
“Ah yes, you’re remembering the infamous gambling encounter with Mr. Roderick.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t boredom I felt, but…restlessness. It wasn’t for me.”
Softly, she said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
They looked at each other, then he r
eached to take her hand. She pulled away.
“We do have things in common,” he murmured.
“Not enough. You’re making sure of that.”
He rose to his feet and stood staring at her, his hands in his pockets, his shirt hanging open. “Go to sleep in the carriage. The benches aren’t too uncomfortable.”
“Where will you sleep?” she asked.
“The ground is dry. I have blankets stored beneath the benches. I’ll be fine.”
William followed her to the carriage, then awakened Mr. Barlow to come eat his dinner. Beneath the benches were stores of blankets and matches and candles—and a rifle. He removed that, as well as the ammunition, before replacing the bench tops. She stared at him, wondering if he expected another attack, but he only shrugged, laid several blankets over his arm, and walked toward the fire with Mr. Barlow.
Jane sat down slowly and pushed the shutters aside to watch the men. Killer moved between them, begging for food. As she wrapped a blanket about herself, she thought of the life the men had led, full of challenge and excitement. And it dawned on her that not only had William misled her about his own character but he’d also experienced the adventures he was now trying to deny her. He’d explored the world but only wanted her to remain in his home, giving him children. It would be like living her mother’s life, something she’d swore she’d never do. A helpless anger rose inside her.
Jane had sworn never to let this happen to her—but it was happening. William only masked his true intentions with a pleasant, humorous façade. And she was letting him because of her weakness to his touch.
She would no longer give in to his charm so easily.
With resolve strong inside her, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She was finally becoming drowsy when the door opened and cold air invaded the carriage.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, struggling to sit up.
William pressed her back down with one hand, while the other arm cradled his panting dog. “Killer needs some pampering tonight. Do you mind if he sleeps with you?”
She groaned and rolled away from him, gesturing toward the far seat. “If Mr. Barlow isn’t sleeping in here, that bench is empty.”
“But it’s cold.”
She felt four paws drop firmly onto her lower legs. “William—”
“He takes up little room.”
Killer started growling.
“Don’t give me that,” William continued, talking to the dog as if it could understand. “She doesn’t bite, although I keep asking her to. Stay.”
“William—”
“Shh. He’ll sleep if you keep quiet.”
“I’m not worried about him sleeping. I just don’t want him sleeping with me!”
“Good night,” he said with satisfaction.
She wanted to throw something at him, but all she had was the dog, and that seemed a bit cruel. Especially after the animal had chased a brigand, then run for hours behind the carriage. The door closed, and in the silence, she waited, wondering what the dog would do.
Suddenly Killer scrambled up her body, his paws pressing into her thighs and hips until he found the open area between her stomach and the seat back. He circled once, then curled up against her.
At least he was warm, she thought, resting her head on her arm.
The next morning Will opened the carriage door and saw that Jane was still sound asleep. He’d almost expected to find the dog on the opposite bench—they were both rather stubborn—but he didn’t see Killer at first. Silently he climbed up and stood in the doorway, but it took him a moment to discover Killer curled up against her stomach.
Then he noticed that her eyes were open, watching him.
He smiled and said in a husky voice, “Well, Killer, this is just where I want to be, and you got here before me.”
She frowned. “I think he needs to go outside.”
He reached for the dog, letting the back of his hand slide down Jane’s soft stomach. He thought she trembled, but she said nothing. Killer gave an angry growl at being disturbed.
“Yes, Killer, I agree that she’s not pleasant in the morning,” Will answered.
Jane groaned and gave him a push with her foot—her small, bare foot, covered in the sheerest silk stocking that slid against his thigh. He almost forgot what he was going to say as he found himself stepping back onto the ground.
“Oh, and wear the plainest garments you own, and a bonnet that best hides your face,” he called. “There’s no point in being more obvious than we need to be.”
“Then you’ll need to get me my portmanteau.”
He sighed. “I have to climb?”
“Too exciting for you?” she shot back.
He was relieved at the return of her spirit. “Touché.”
“And you pronounced it right this time.”
He stared up at her in confusion, but she closed the door in his face.
After giving her the portmanteau, Will spent several minutes taking the coat of arms off the carriage. He wasn’t taking any chances, even though he thought they’d eluded their pursuers. After Jane had emerged wearing a fresh dress, she insisted on changing the bandages for his and Barlow’s wounds.
Though he only showed her his bare arm, her face was flushed. Yet her expression showed him nothing of what she was feeling. When he told her he was almost healed and she wouldn’t need to bandage him anymore, she said nothing. What had he expected—Oh please let me touch you, William?
As Barlow harnessed the horses, Will told himself that today would be better. She would get over her anger and perhaps even be interested in what he’d done in his life. After all, she was not a meek girl to be appalled at the dangerous things he’d had to do. Maybe part of what drew him to Jane was her fearlessness, the many ways she wasn’t like other women.
But as the day wore on, he realized she was not going to forget his deception. His hope that his revealed identity might appeal to her was dashed. She hadn’t liked “Lord” Chadwick, and she was angry and disgusted with Will the Spy. What if there was no other Will to show her?
They visited three estates that day, and she found fault with everything. She’d never expressed an opinion before, but now he realized she was actively against a life with him. She was moving further and further away in spirit, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Jane knew she was being ridiculous, but every home they considered seemed so isolated, so sedate that she felt suffocated the moment she entered the front doors. She had wanted to do so much in her life—visit Italian museums, climb Mont Blanc in Switzerland, walk the seashore at Cannes. She was almost bitter that William had done more with his life than she could ever imagine.
Yet she couldn’t stop watching him, the way he moved, the way he tried to encourage her with his smiles. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, which only made her more disappointed with herself. He too was floundering, and she knew it was her own behavior that was affecting him. She was appalled to find herself wanting to change just for him.
Was this what happened to women? Did they so easily become enslaved by the need for a man that they’d change themselves just to make him happy?
She knew that no matter what she told herself, she was still drawn to him. When he helped her down from the carriage, and his hands settled on her waist, she wanted to press herself against him, to allow herself to forget all her whirling thoughts and concentrate only on feeling. When she reminded herself about the lies he’d told her, and what else he could be keeping from her, she soon was thinking about his mouth on her breast, his hand between her thighs. This duality in her mind was going to drive her insane.
As the sun settled into the horizon, the road they traveled was lined with more and more stone houses as they approached the small town of Epworth. The Market Square, which was the center of town, was set atop a gently sloping hill, with long rows of two-story brick buildings lined up side by side. A tall gothic tower of a church pointed at the sky, as if leading the way to
heaven.
William escorted Jane to a small hotel, The Crown and the Horse, that was surrounded by a weedy courtyard and slanting stables. But the gray stone building looked sturdy enough, and inside a woman had obviously taken care of the furnishings. Although the public rooms were sparsely filled, the furniture shone with polish; the food was plain, but hardy and delicious. She and William were shown to separate rooms, and she was grateful to close the door and not have to face him or her conflicting emotions anymore. Her bedchamber was quaint, with a large four-poster bed, and even a little sitting area. The inn must once have catered to wealthy travelers.
She bathed in a hip tub brought up by the servants. As the water gradually cooled, she lay still, luxuriating in feeling clean. The inn was quiet, but for occasional footsteps, and as Jane drowsed in the water, it took several minutes before a murmuring of conversation penetrated.
William was not alone in his room.
Only a half hour before, Mr. Barlow had said good night, and from the gallery outside her room overlooking the courtyard, she’d seen him head past the stables. Had he returned?
The water was cold, so she dried off and began to dress. She found herself donning a chemise and gown rather than her nightclothes. When leaning her ear against the wall didn’t allow her to distinguish their words, she went out onto the gallery, now dark but for the occasional lantern on the outside of the building. After looking about to see if she was being watched, she carefully leaned her head against William’s door, but the conversation was muffled.
“What do you mean, ‘She’s on the move again’?” Will demanded, staring at Sam Sherryngton, who was wearing another ridiculous disguise.
“She left Langley Manor the same day you did, and she’s heading north.”
“To Leeds?”
“Well, I guess, but she’s not moving quickly. She’s in Tuxford tonight, being watched over by Nick and Charlotte.”
“Charlotte’s actively participating now?” Will asked with amusement.
“Not…quite. But I think she wants to help. She might even believe we’re on the right side. But as for our quarry, I think she’s going home first.”
