Lord and Lady Spy

by Shana Galen

  “With your life,” he said. “Not with your emotions, Sophia. Not with your heart.”

  She stepped away, breaking free of his hold. “I told you, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. There’s nothing else to say.” She turned away from him, moved toward her dresser—for what she knew not.

  “Oh there’s a hell of a lot to say. This pertains to me as well, and I want to discuss it.”

  She rounded on him, saw the surprise on his face. “You want a child. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Then go ahead and divorce me,” she spat. “You have reason. Marry someone who can give you what you want.”

  “I want you.”

  “You want something I can’t give you.”

  He came for her, and despite the hand she threw up, he grabbed her around the waist and held her close. He touched his nose to hers, but she continued to squirm. “You can. You’re afraid to try again, and I understand why. I wasn’t there for you last time. We went through our pain separately.”

  Now she stilled. He had never spoken of his feelings about the losses before.

  “I grieved too, Sophia. I know I didn’t show it. I’m sure I didn’t feel the losses like you did, but I grieved. And I felt so helpless.” He released her now, raked a hand through his dark blond hair. “I wanted to do something, to make it right for you, and I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to comfort you. Instead, I let you shut me out.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Just the simple admission that he’d grieved for their lost children made the tears she struggled to keep in check well up. He’d loved their babies too. “You don’t know how much I’ve needed to hear that,” she whispered. She put a hand to her eyes to dash the tears she so hated.

  He crossed to her, caught her hand, and kissed the wetness on her cheeks. “Give me another chance. Let me be the husband I should have been.”

  She wanted to, but inside everything felt tight and strained. She couldn’t risk another loss…

  “I want only to be your husband, Sophia. I’m not going to force you to try and conceive. We can go on as we have. But I need your trust.”

  “And the Barbican group?” she asked.

  “We’re on the same side. I vow I won’t betray you.”

  He was a man who kept his vows. She sighed, relief flooding through her. She didn’t know what would happen when it truly mattered, but she knew he would not intentionally deceive her. “I trust you,” she answered.

  He raised his brows. “Do you?”

  She frowned. She could never tell what he was thinking from one moment to the next.

  “Yes.” For the moment.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Good. Then prove it.”

  Fifteen

  She didn’t like Adrian’s expression. It made her think of a wolf on the hunt. It took no amount of imagination to figure out where his code name had come from. She knew she would regret asking, but she did it anyway. “How can I prove it?”

  “Take off your clothes.” He didn’t blink.

  Neither did she. It was the perfect challenge. She’d never been naked before him in full daylight. To stand before him, exposed, left her defenseless. “Are you going to take your clothing off, too?”

  “Not even my coat.” He’d given their butler his hat and gloves upon arrival, but otherwise he was fully dressed.

  “And what’s to happen when I’m undressed?”

  His smiled. “Undress, and we’ll find out.”

  “Very well.” She walked toward the window, intent upon shutting the drapes on the window facing Charles Street.

  “Leave them.”

  She stilled, her back to him. “That’s rather daring.”

  “Hardly. No one on the street can see this high, and the nearest neighbor with a view is across the street. But let’s make it daring.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. Now what did he have planned?

  “Stand in front of the window.” His voice held a note of challenge, and his eyebrow lifted to echo the sentiment. He expected her to decline. She could see it in the way his lips curved.

  But she wasn’t going to refuse, and she suspected he knew the risks of discovery excited her. “Very well. I need you to help me with these buttons.”

  His grin widened. She went to the window and placed her hands on either side of the casement. On the street below, a carriage sped past and a servant from one of the nearby houses hurried along with a parcel under his arm. No one looked up. She did not think they would.

  She felt his hands on her back. He started at the base of her spine and trailed them up the line of small, prim buttons. She shivered, picturing his long fingers opening the first of the small buttons just beneath her hair. Indeed, his hand brushed the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes. Perhaps if she focused on sensation—his fingers grazed her skin as he loosed the next button—she would not feel embarrassed.

  Sophia was not easily embarrassed—there went another button. As Agent Saint, she had acted in a play on the Venice stage, masqueraded as a sparsely dressed dancing girl in Gibraltar, and pretended to be an opera virtuoso in Vienna—a ruse that didn’t last once she had to sing.

  Adrian loosed two buttons quickly, and Sophia felt her bodice begin to give.

  She wasn’t overly modest. She’d been naked in front of seamstresses and ladies’ maids on more occasions than she could count. She’d been almost naked in Cordelia’s garden last night. But last night it had been dark, and she doubted a seamstress cared one whit what she looked like without her clothing.

  But Adrian cared. Adrian would be looking—closely—at every inch of her.

  He opened another button, and she realized he was almost finished. Her underclothing would take a few moments to discard once he loosened her stays, but not nearly long enough to still her nerves.

  Her body was far from perfect. Her hips were too wide, her waist not small enough, her legs a little on the stubby side. She’d always wanted to be tall and willowy, but no one in her family had much height, and she was no exception. In clothing, she could disguise her imperfections. The high-waisted fashions concealed waists, hips, and legs while revealing shoulders and breasts.

  But even there she had help. Her stays gave her just enough lift. Now Adrian would see all of her flaws. What would he think? Her pulse kicked with both trepidation and arousal.

  And wasn’t that exactly the reason he was making her do this? So she could prove she trusted him to want her no matter what? She wished she could trust that he loved her, but spies didn’t fall in love. Neither of them could afford to engage their feelings that deeply. But there could be passion, respect, lust…

  “Done.” Adrian’s breath tickled her ear, and a tremor shot through her. She reached for her hair, watching a hansom cab roll past on the street. His hand on hers stopped her. “Leave it up. For now.”

  “Very well.” Still facing the window, she unfastened pins and tapes, then slid the gown off, tossing it on a nearby chair. Now she stood in petticoat, stays, chemise, and stockings. The petticoat she removed easily, but she couldn’t manage the stays by herself. Adrian knew this, of course, and his fingers went to work on the ties. “Do you want me to turn around?” she asked now that she had only the thin chemise and her stockings left.

  “Not yet.” His voice sounded slightly hoarse, and she smiled.

  Below, a man and woman, followed by a chaperone, passed. The woman’s parasol blocked her face from view, but the man looked up to admire the buildings. Sophia held her breath, but he didn’t look at her window.

  She bent, undid her garters, and rolled her stockings down. They, too, were tossed on the chair, and then she had only her chemise. Not that it hid much. The sunlight penetrated the thin fabric, revealing everything. She stood undecided for a moment. Should she lower it over her breasts or lift the hem and take it over her head?

  She’d lower it—hide her hips and legs as long as possible.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and allowed one s
trap to fall down her arm. Adrian’s gray eyes were almost blue as he watched the slide of the strap down her skin. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her flesh. Then without warning, he leaned forward and kissed the spot where the strap had been. Sophia closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps if she could distract him with kissing, he wouldn’t look at her so closely.

  But even as she reached for him, he moved away. “Keep going,” he said, his voice dark as midnight.

  She slid the other strap off, allowed the silk chemise to skim down her back, revealing inch by inch by inch. Finally the material was at her waist, and she closed her eyes and allowed the rest to fall in a puddle on the floor. Unsure what to do with her hands, she braced them on the casement again. She didn’t want to see Adrian’s face, so she opened her eyes and stared down at the street below. Two carriages passed, but the coachmen didn’t look up. She imagined she’d see the look of surprise on their faces if they had.

  Suddenly she felt Adrian’s hand on her waist. Was he noting how it wasn’t small enough?

  “Turn around,” he whispered. His voice sounded almost…

  She turned, chanced a look at him. His eyes were on her face, his expression nothing less than reverent. “You’re exquisite.” He traced a hand down her shoulder, along her breast, against her waist, and over her hip.

  “I’m not.” She shook her head but didn’t say more. She was no fool. She wasn’t going to point out her flaws if he didn’t see them.

  “I want to touch every inch of you.”

  She arched a brow. “Every inch?”

  “Twice.” He pushed her gently back against the window. It was warm from the sunlight, and she could imagine the view from below. But at least anyone passing wouldn’t see her face.

  She thought he would kiss her, but he didn’t. He took one finger and began at her forehead. His hand trailed over her face, and when he reached her lips, she nipped one of his fingers, drew it into her mouth.

  “You’re distracting me.”

  “Why don’t you take your clothes off?” she said, suddenly wishing to see him in the daylight as well. She could picture him undressed, but not clearly. Too much darkness and shadows. She knew him by touch. Now she wanted to know him by sight.

  “Not yet,” he said, leaving his finger in her mouth and allowing his other hand to roam down her neck to her shoulder and then instinctively to her breast. His finger brushed her hard nipple, and she let out a little gasp.

  His finger free, he withdrew it from her mouth and put that hand on her other breast. Just the mere brush of his fingers against those taut nipples made her sigh. And when he cupped her breasts, rubbed them lightly, she couldn’t stop the small moan.

  “Your mouth,” she said. “Put your mouth on me.”

  “Is that an order?”

  Her eyes flew open—she hadn’t even realized they were closed. “I didn’t mean—”

  He leaned forward and kissed her mouth. “I like it. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “Be specific. Tell me where, how.”

  She hadn’t thought he’d like receiving orders from her, but if that was what he wanted… “Put your mouth on my breast. Yes, that one.”

  “Where?” he asked, kneading her.

  “On the side. Yes. Now run your tongue along it until you reach the nipple.” When he licked her nipple, she jumped at the jolt of arousal. She allowed her head to fall back. “Take it in your mouth.” She moaned. “Suck—gently.”

  She didn’t need to tell him what to do. He knew what she liked. Even without her telling him, he began to suck harder. She moaned again, pushed her hips toward him.

  “Tell me what else to do,” he growled.

  “Rough,” she moaned. “You know I like it rough.”

  He gripped her about the waist, savaged her other breast with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. She was practically panting. His hands caught her hips, pulled them hard against him. She could feel the wool of his trousers against the bare skin of her thighs. He teased her stomach with tongue and teeth while his hands molded her bottom then slid forward and between her legs.

  “There,” she commanded. “Touch me there.” She was already wet for him. She could feel the moisture as he slid his fingers over her small nub. She wanted him to stop right there, but he stroked her, inserting one finger then pulling out.

  “Stop teasing me,” she ordered.

  “Open your legs,” he ordered right back. She spread them farther, and he slid his finger in again, slid it out, and rubbed it slowly over that perfect spot.

  “Again,” she demanded. “Harder.”

  He complied, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes were dark, and she could see he was almost as aroused as she.

  “Faster.” She was breathless now, her body bucking, yearning, seeking, groping for the pleasure he was offering. “Oh, yes… more.”

  He stroked her again, and she exploded. She had to clutch his shoulders to stay on her feet, and bite her lip to keep from screaming out and alerting the entire household. And still her cry of pleasure echoed in the room.

  For a full minute, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t catch her breath. And then she opened her eyes, and Adrian was smiling at her. “I’ve never seen your face when that happened before. I want to see it again.” He stroked her, and she convulsed.

  “No more. Not yet,” she begged. “You take off your clothes. Let me see you.”

  “I suppose fair is… bloody hell!”

  “What?”

  He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking past her, out the window. “Another agent is approaching the house.”

  She jumped back and behind the curtains then peered down. Agent Blue was staring directly at her window. He waved. Curtain firmly in place, she waved back.

  “You know Agent Blue?” Adrian asked.

  She slammed the drapes closed. “Yes. Do you?”

  “We worked together in Brussels last year.”

  She went to her clothespress, futilely hoping Adrian wasn’t watching her every move, and withdrew a voluminous robe. “This isn’t exactly proper,” she said, slipping it on, “but I don’t have time to dress.”

  “How do you know he’s come to see you?” Adrian asked.

  “He’s come to see me here before.” She finished knotting the sash and turned to him. “Do you think he knows you and I—?”

  “No. But he’ll know now.”

  “Not if you stay abovestairs.” She started for the door, but Adrian followed.

  “If he has something to tell you, I want to hear it.”

  “You can’t possibly be worried about Blue seeing me in déshabillé. I don’t think I interest him… in that way.”

  “No.” Adrian opened her door and motioned her out into the hallway. “But if he has news from Melbourne, I want to know. I sent a note before I came up, telling Melbourne about our little skirmish this morning. Blue might be bringing his reply.”

  Sophia nodded. “In that case, he might be coming to see you.”

  They reached the first floor just as Wallace appeared on the landing. “My lord, there is a man here to see Lady Smythe. I told him she was not home, but—”

  “That’s all right, Wallace. Show him into the drawing room.”

  Wallace flicked his gaze at Sophia in her dressing gown then, without showing so much as a flicker of surprise, turned to fetch Blue.

  ***

  Adrian watched Blue’s piercing eyes quickly take in the scene in the drawing room. The man was a scene in itself, dressed in a persimmon coat and lemon waistcoat. Blue greeted Sophia formally then nodded to Adrian. “You must be Lord Smythe.”

  For a moment, even Adrian couldn’t be sure if Blue remembered him from the job in Brussels. The spy’s face was a perfect mask of polite aloofness. Adrian nodded back. “I think you know me better as Agent Wolf.”

  One of Blue’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

  “It’s all right, Blue,” S
ophia said, motioning him to a place on the couch. “He knows I’m Agent Saint. You don’t have to pretend you don’t know us.”

  “I’m not pretending,” Blue said, sitting carefully on the richly upholstered green-and-cream cushions. “I had no idea you were”—he gestured futilely—“who you are.”

  Adrian could well believe it. He had no idea who the other man was when he wasn’t Agent Blue. He wondered how much Sophia knew. She obviously knew Blue better than he. She’d had no qualms about wearing her dressing gown in his presence. Not that it wasn’t every bit as formal as many of her gowns and a good deal less revealing than some. She looked small and delicate in the apple green satin with small pink stripes.

  “You didn’t know we were married?” Adrian asked Blue. He’d had moments where he’d wondered if everyone knew he and Sophia were married but he and Sophia. Perhaps the entire Barbican group was in on the secret.

  “I had my suspicions, but she didn’t recognize you when you stole Ducos from under her nose, and that threw me.”

  “I didn’t steal Ducos,” Adrian began, protesting.

  “Yes, our identities were a surprise to us as well,” Sophia said. Blue’s lips turned down slightly. “Shall I call for tea?” she offered.

  “No, my lady.”

  She shook her head. A few tendrils of her hair, loose from their earlier lovemaking, tumbled down about her neck. “Call me Saint.”

  Blue nodded at her then Adrian, who joined Sophia on the matching couch opposite Blue. “Why are you here? Did Melbourne send you?”

  “No. Why would he?” The question was phrased carefully.

  “We’re on a special case, and I sent Melbourne a missive, asked him to take a look at…” He glanced at Sophia, wondering at the best way to describe a dead assailant.

  “A piece of evidence,” she supplied.

  “I see. He hasn’t asked me to look at it.” Blue withdrew a slip of paper from his coat. “Yet. I bring this from Lord Liverpool.”

  Adrian waited for Sophia to take the paper, but she gestured to him. He took it and slipped it open, angling it so she could see as well. It was a request for them to meet him at eleven the following evening at Lord Dewhurst’s ball. The phrasing was such as to leave no doubt Liverpool expected answers. Adrian glanced at Sophia. She was watching him. Clearly, neither of them had answers. Adrian thought of the dead assailant and the valet they would interview on the morrow. He hoped one of them possessed a clue to Jenkinson’s murder. At this point, he was no closer than Bow Street to ascertaining the identity of the killer.