by Gaelen Foley
He sat wearily and pulled off his boots. Her blue eyes danced as she watched his every move.
“Do I amuse you?”
“For some reason, yes. Very much.”
“Happy to be your entertainment, madam.”
She smirked, but the sparkle in her eyes was still playful enough to tempt him. “Just so you know,” she added, “I’ll be sleeping with a pistol under my pillow.”
“So will I. So don’t get any ideas,” he replied. “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night, my lord.” She blew out the candle and left him in the dark, smiling in spite of himself.
Gin found it hard to fall asleep with Nick in the room. Her awareness of him was intense.
As she lay awake, filtering all the unfamiliar sounds and smells of this place, she reflected on the fact that she probably should have taken two separate chambers for them at the inn, but she still found it necessary to keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn’t steal her emerald and abandon her now that he’d got her the game piece. Make sure the rogue behaved.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t expected to find his charismatic presence so distracting. In the darkness, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about all the things written about him in her father’s book of secrets—the item that was, in fact, the real reason for this journey—a fact she had not yet seen fit to share with Nick.
She dreaded his reaction. With a knot in the pit of her stomach, she wondered where the journal was right now. Damn John Carr.
What had happened was in fact so horrible that she could hardly bear to contemplate it. If all that information should get out or fall into the wrong hands . . .
God, she’d never fall asleep if she started thinking about it.
She told herself she wouldn’t let that happen, especially now that she had the help of an expert. She just needed to be careful about when she revealed the rest of the story to Nick. Wait until she was sure he was ready to hear it without going through the roof.
When she let out a shaky exhalation, he must have heard her.
“You all right over there?” he drawled in the darkness.
His impertinent tone put a wry smile on her face. “I suppose I just . . . have a lot on my mind.”
“Want to talk about it? Ramble all you like. I promise I won’t snore if I should fall asleep.”
Her lips twisted. “You’re very kind. But, no. Go to sleep, Nicholas.”
“I would, but this damned chair is nearly as bad as my prison cot.” She could hear him shifting around in it impatiently, punching the pillow. “I don’t suppose you’d let me—”
“No,” she interrupted, fighting a smile. “Perhaps you’ll find the floor a little softer.”
He harrumphed, and muttered, “Cruel.”
She shut her eyes again, smiling, and rather thanking God that he was here.
Much pleasanter than panicking over the journal’s location was reflecting on its fascinating contents.
Especially about him.
Virgil had kept careful notes on his boys and their many operations.
That was how she knew these men so well, now that her father had died. Virgil had bequeathed his secret journal to her as her life-insurance policy, should any of his old enemies ever come after her.
She had wide knowledge of the Order and people who could help her if she should ever need it. Knowledge that was all but forbidden to outsiders.
Virgil had known it was a flagrant violation of policy to share this information with her, practically a compendium of his whole clandestine career; but he was a lonely old warrior who had wanted to be truly known by at least one person in this world, and for that, he had chosen her, his own daughter.
More importantly, he had seen too many of those he loved maimed or killed over the years because of his work.
He could not bear for anything to happen to her or his grandson. So he, Virgil Banks, of all people, the legendary spymaster, had broken the Order’s other immutable law, of secrecy—much as Nick had broken the primary rule, by trying to break free.
Maybe her father and his problem agent were more alike than either man had realized, she mused.
Determined to get some rest before another long day’s travel ahead, she thought about her sire’s notes pertaining to Nick’s temperament, his background, his habits, strengths, and weaknesses, and of course, the record of his many selfless and insanely brave deeds.
That was why she was not concerned about letting him sleep in the same room with her. Nick might not know he was a hero, but she did.
He was a dangerous man, of course, but never to a lady.
Unless, of course, that lady was foolish enough to fall in love with him—a man who could not be tamed.
Gin turned restlessly onto her side and wondered what it would be like, lying in his arms, his hard body curved against hers, spoon fashion, like sated lovers in the aftermath of passion.
She bit her lip to hold back another sigh, lest he start to wonder what the devil was wrong with her.
She knew she was going to have to tell him the whole truth eventually, but not until they had left England, far from the Order’s prying eyes.
She did not know how he would react. She did not want him storming out on her for lying to him, turning her over to the graybeards to curry favor with them after his fall from grace; nor could she afford his trying to involve his fellow agents in this mission.
Even though it actually did concern the others—Beauchamp, Montgomery, Warrington, Westwood, Falconridge, Rotherstone, all of them—their involvement would bring too much attention.
Nick, tucked away in prison, had been forgotten by the world.
Besides, he better than anyone would surely understand and forgive her father’s breaking of the rules.
No, Gin thought, as long as Nick chose to cooperate, she was confident they could get the journal back and punish John Carr for the theft before any real harm was done, and also rescue those girls. They didn’t need his former teammates. The two of them would handle this alone.
The next morning, Nick asked the first mate how the weather looked for the crossing as they came aboard the packet ship.
“Fair skies, at least for now, sir,” he replied, “but you never can tell with the Channel.”
He was right.
Halfway through the voyage, the winds slacked off, the sea went calm, and they were left to crawl along through the waves at a snail’s pace.
What should have been a sail of about five hours was now going on seven, and the fun wasn’t nearly over yet. As soon as they reached France, they’d have another, even longer carriage ride down to Paris.
That was sure to be slow going because the roads in France were terrible on account of the wars. Apparently, Napoleon had had better uses for the nation’s wealth than fixing roads and bridges. What proper emperor would waste his gold on such mundane repairs when there were still so many delicious countries out there waiting to be invaded?
Ah, well. Bonaparte was now safely under guard around the clock at his island prison of St. Helena—indeed, even while Nick had been locked up in the Order’s secret dungeon.
Fancy that, he mused as he sat alone in the tiny stateroom. Never would’ve thought he’d have something in common with the Monster. God knew he’d killed enough of Napoleon’s courtiers, agents of the Promethean conspiracy.
While the afternoon waned, Nick passed the time reviewing the files Virginia had given him related to the case. All the while, he turned the diamond-shaped game piece over and over between his finger and thumb as he worked, glancing over maps of Paris, considering the ground and the various threats they might run across there.
They’d have to keep their wits about them. Of course, the war was over, but France could still be somewhat hostile territory for English folk, l
ess so in the cities.
It had also been for time immemorial a favorite stronghold of the Order’s archenemies, the Promethean conspirators. Before the Order had finally defeated the twisted, occult-loving bastards, the conspiracy had been especially strong there, aye, ever since the decades leading up to the bloody French Revolution.
And no wonder, that. Behind the scenes, the rich and highborn Promethean lords had always been the special, hidden patrons of the Jacobins for their own, quite different motives, stirring up the radicals, fomenting any sort of hatred they could turn to their advantage. Whatever they could use. They believed in nothing but their own power and control; to them, the globe was but a chessboard.
All the more reason to hate them, Nick thought. But they were defeated now. Nick and his brother warriors had ended their attempt to take hold of Napoleon’s empire from the inside.
If they had succeeded, they would have worked a much darker tyranny over the Continent than the Little Emperor could have ever dreamed of. Bonaparte had built the structure, but the conspirators had thought to take it over bit by bit for their own uses, slowly gaining control, ministry by ministry, region by region, always pretending to obey, help, cooperate.
God, they were vile. He certainly didn’t regret killing any of them who had crossed his path.
As he leaned back slowly in his chair, his mind churning on all the information in the files, he suddenly wondered about his traveling companion. Reviewing her notes on these abducted young women suddenly sharpened his instinctive need to make sure she was safe.
Of course, he had scanned the other passengers and determined that nothing on the ship appeared a threat, but she’d been gone a while now. Better go and check on her, he thought.
As he put the papers away, he did not know if she was avoiding him or if she was worried they’d do something they’d regret if they stayed too long together in that tiny cabin.
It was very possible.
Whatever her reasons—and Nick preferred to think it was simple boredom when the ship was becalmed—she had traipsed off to the ship’s common room to socialize with the other well-to-do passengers.
Nick hadn’t been in the mood to join her when she had invited him to come along, but now seemed a good time to make sure she was all right—and behaving.
Satisfied that their papers were secure, he locked the cabin door, then proceeded through the narrow wooden passageway toward the common room.
Even before he arrived, he heard her laughter. His stomach tightened as he saw her sitting at a table with a small group of people, mostly men.
They were playing cards, gambling.
An idle amusement merely to pass the time, no doubt. But still, with both of them acutely aware that this was his Achilles’ heel, he clenched his jaw as he went to her. The handsome blond man sitting across from her stopped laughing and tensed as Nick approached the table, resting his hands on her delicate shoulders.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him warmly. “You’re not allowed to join us.”
“Your husband, madam?” the stranger asked in a forcedly pleasant tone.
But the timing of their answer went awkwardly awry, for at the same moment Nick bent to kiss her neck, confirming this was so, she replied, “No, he’s my brother.”
Thus they shocked everyone at the table, for it was not the sort of kiss a brother should ever put on his sister’s neck.
Nick let out a wicked laugh—what else could he do?
Virginia turned strawberry red while everyone at the table stared in horror at the incestuous couple.
“Come back to our cabin, sis,” he purred loud enough for them to hear. He hooked his finger through her necklace and gave it a light tug, warning her that he was annoyed. “I’m lonely for your company. Besides.” He looked at her cards. “You’ve a terrible hand. Be a good girl and fold.”
He had never seen her embarrassed before. It was ever so amusing.
She jumped up from her chair and could not even look at him as she flounced straight out of the common room without a backward glance.
Nick bowed to the cardplayers. “Gentlemen.”
Then he chased her as she fled below. Laughing, he caught up with her in the passageway several feet outside their cabin. He reached out from behind her and captured her arm. “Oh, come, you know it was funny.”
“You are the devil!” she uttered, whirling to face him, her cheeks aflame.
“Then what does that make you? Tell me, are you going to flirt with the whole crew or just the passengers?” he demanded hotly.
“What’s the matter, jealous?”
“Maybe. Isn’t that what you want?”
She leaned back against the bulkhead and glared at him, her eyes shooting cobalt sparks. “You don’t know what I want,” she informed him.
“I think I do,” he whispered.
“How can anyone be so arrogant?” she ground out, her chest heaving.
“It’s easy.” He lowered his head and skimmed her nose with his own. “I want you, Virginia.”
“I don’t care if you do!”
“What are we going to do about this?”
“We at least ought to get our story straight!” she evaded.
“I agree. Listen.” He touched her chin, caressing her face as he lifted her gaze up to his. “I have to tell you something.”
“What?” she mumbled, holding his gaze, as though she couldn’t look away any more than he could.
“I said some awful things to you the other night outside the Topaz Room. You didn’t deserve that. I am sorry.”
Her eyebrow shot up.
“I felt foolish for getting myself into that situation, owing Lowell money, I mean. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to see me as a total disgrace.”
“I don’t,” she murmured.
“Well, I am, aren’t I?”
“Nick, you’re not the only one who’s ever made mistakes. Believe me.”
He lowered his gaze. “I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean those things I said. I was just embarrassed, but the truth is, you saved my bacon, and I owe you.”
“Well, just see this mission through with me, and we’ll call it square.” She eyed him warily. “I thought you were the fellow who never apologizes.”
“First time for everything,” he said with a small shrug. “Besides, you deserve it. I was wrong.”
She stared into his eyes for a long moment.
“What is it?” he murmured.
“Nick,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”
The request surprised him, to say the least. He figured she would have continued to try hiding her desire for him.
He tilted his head, regarding her with wry caution. “Is this one going to mean anything?”
“Yes,” she breathed, nodding as she held his gaze.
How could he resist when she put herself in his hands like this?
A well of gentleness that he didn’t even know he possessed opened within him and began to flow through every inch of his being as he cupped his hand around her nape.
He approached her lips softly, slowly, his heart pounding. There was something sacred in that moment as he leaned down—something that required the truth.
“Virginia?” He paused, close enough to feel her breath puff against his mouth.
“Yes?”
He flinched slightly at the question he had to ask. “Why do you want me to kiss you when you don’t even think me worthy to speak to your son?”
“What?” She pulled back from waiting breathlessly for his kiss to look into his eyes, furrowing her brow.
He saw some realization enter into her gaze, and she winced and cupped his cheek lightly in her hand. “Oh, Nick, that’s not the reason I told you to stay away from him. I don’t want him idolizing an
y Order agent. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I thought you understood that! He’s so headstrong, always testing me. So eager to follow in Virgil’s footsteps and be a hero.”
“I noticed.”
“Well, that’s how he sees you. When I told you to stay away from him, it was because I don’t want you encouraging him. I won’t let the Order sink their claws into my boy. They took my father from me. They cannot have my son. Look what they’ve done to you. How did your mother ever bear to send you off like that? How do any of them? That’s what I don’t understand.” Her words broke off abruptly. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
She searched his face, but Nick just smiled rather sadly. He wished he knew the answer to that himself, but it was a question that, as a rule, he did not let himself ask.
Virginia let it go and laid her hand gently on his chest. “I feel dreadful that you thought that’s what I meant. That you’re unworthy in any way. That is not how I see you at all, Nick. I just didn’t want you saying anything to Phillip that would make the child even more determined to pursue that kind of life.”
“Never,” he replied in a quiet voice. “I wouldn’t wish that sort of life on my worst enemy.”
Too hard. Too bloody. Much too isolated from the rest of human life. But it was all in what you got used to.
“If I had known that’s what you thought . . . No wonder you were angry.” Instead of a kiss, he got a hug as she moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist.
It was a curious feeling, far from the passion that at least he knew how to navigate. This show of artless, womanly affection rather stymied him.
She laid her head on his chest, holding him like maybe she really was his devoted sister or his loyal wife. Nick frowned warily above her, not knowing how to react.
He supposed the done thing was to give her a cautious hug back. So he did.
It seemed to satisfy her. She let out a contented sigh in his arms. He went further, warily smoothing her hair.
“You silly, silly man,” she chided with a fond shake of her head against his chest a moment later. “How could you think that I would ever see you as unworthy?”
