The Duke and the Assassin (The Royal Agents of MI6 Book 1)

by Heather Slade

  I heard the door open and rolled to my back.

  “Good afternoon, my sleeping beauties,” said Shiver, bending at the waist to lift Kazmir out of the crib. The baby kicked his legs and babbled at him, putting his tiny hand on his cheek.

  “He likes you.”

  “He has good taste.”

  As soon as he spoke, Kazmir got fussy and reached out for me.

  “Don’t take it personally,” I said when I saw his face fall. “He’s hungry.”

  “I came back to see if you needed anything.”

  I lifted my shirt, unfastened the cup of the maternity bra, and let Kazmir get settled before I looked up at him. “I don’t think so, but thank you.”

  “I apologize for staring. You’re both just so beautiful.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “Thank you,” I repeated.

  “I’ll go back out, then,” he said, but didn’t move.

  “You can stay.”

  “I shouldn’t. I…uh…”

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Pardon? I mean, yes, I’m fine…”

  “Shiver?”

  “I’ll be back later,” he said and walked out.

  I tilted my head and looked at my sweet son, nursing happily while a war waged inside me.

  Things had never been easy between Shiver and me. At first it was all about undeniable attraction. It still was to a certain extent. The sound of his voice alone made me long to feel his naked body against mine.

  “I’ve heard about you,” I said to the man who had come up behind where I sat at the bar, without making a sound.

  “What have you heard?” he asked, his mouth so close to my neck that I could feel the heat of his breath.

  “You make women shiver.”

  “What about you? Do I make you shiver?”

  With his mouth still so close to my neck, I leaned into him so his lips almost made contact with my skin.

  “Tell me, Orina, do I?” he said in an English accent that had to be part of his charm.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked, closing my eyes and wishing I could feel his naked body against mine.

  “I asked around.”

  “Why?”

  “You are the most captivating woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “It has nothing to do with whom I work for?” I signaled the bartender, who poured another shot of icy-cold vodka. “One for the gentleman, please.”

  When Shiver reached around me to pick up the shot glass, he rubbed against me.

  “In spite of it,” he said.

  “Za zdorovje.” I raised my glass.

  “To your health,” he answered, waiting until I brought the glass to my lips before he did. When he sat on the barstool next to me, I missed the warmth of his body so close to mine.

  “You are handsome as well as charming,” I said, looking into his green-gray eyes, wondering if he looked as good out of clothes as he did in them. Probably better, I decided as I took him in, starting with his alluring eyes to his chin, covered with just the right amount of stubble. His hair was dark, thick, and wavy, but shaved on the sides.

  His perfectly pressed white dress shirt was open at the neck, revealing skin that was tan from time in the sun, and the dark-blue suit jacket he wore was snug on his muscular arms.

  His long, thick fingers hinted at the power and breadth of other parts of his body. His legs, too, strained against his custom-cut, dark-blue trousers. The man had to be rock solid underneath all the fabric.

  “Well? What do you think?” he asked, his chin resting against his fist.

  “You are the most captivating man I’ve ever seen.”

  Shiver leaned forward so his lips were once again just below my ear.

  “I’d say, then, we’re the perfect match.”

  “Only one problem,” I said, moving away from him.

  He smirked, leaning back into his fist. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “How do you know I’m not here to kill you?”

  “I cannot imagine a more exquisite way to go.”

  When Kazmir fussed, I moved him to the opposite breast and then leaned back against the pillow, closing my eyes and willing the memory of the first time I met Thornton “Shiver” Whittaker to come back into focus.

  27

  Shiver

  I tried my damnedest to focus on my conversation with Pinch, but when I as much as blinked, the image of Losha with the baby at her breast was all I could see.

  How lucky were women that they had the ability not only to feel a child growing inside them, but to bring them to life, and then feed and nurture them with nothing but their own body?

  Just looking at the two of them brought my primal need to protect the baby and his mother to the surface. I couldn’t imagine how intense that feeling would be in her.

  I didn’t need her to explain to me that she’d die protecting Kazmir; as I’d told her, I would do the same.

  “Shiv?”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “We’ll talk later,” said Pinch.

  “Bloody good idea.” I stood and went to the back of the plane. As much as I wanted to join Losha and the baby, I opened the opposite door instead and lay on the bed.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I let my eyes drift closed. For the time being, she and Kazmir were safe, and I could allow myself to rest.

  How long had I loved her? Maybe from the first night we met.

  I could only see the woman’s long dark hair, but I knew it was Orina “Losha” Kuznetsov sitting at the bar alone. It was a known hangout for the military intelligence set, which made the Russian assassin’s presence at a bar across the way from SIS headquarters all the more intriguing. She was on my turf, and I wondered why.

  As I approached, her scent wafted over me, almost pulling me into her. I got close enough to touch, but didn’t. Instead, I breathed her in, willing my memory to commit her every last detail.

  As we talked, I found her verbal sparring turned me on as much as her beauty—maybe more. Her eyes sparkled as she challenged me with her sexy-as-bloody-hell Russian accent.

  It was rare to the point of being unheard of that I reacted to a woman so strongly that my only thought was of stripping her out of the black sheath she wore and spending hours learning every inch of the body beneath.

  After our second shot of Russian vodka, she stood and grabbed the lapels of my jacket. I looked straight into her deep-gray almost-black eyes, willing her to bring her lips to mine.

  Instead, I felt her tongue on my cheek as she licked from the corner of my mouth up to just below my eye. “You know why I’m here,” she whispered.

  I took a deep breath, barely able to contain my hardness straining against my zipper.

  When she let go and walked away without looking back, I was filled with profound disappointment and a burning need to know why she’d come to that particular bar at that precise time.

  If I concentrated hard enough, I could recall the scent that had lingered after her that night. Like now, my body yearned for hers with such ferocity that every woman I’d met since did nothing for me—to the point I’d wondered if I should consider monkhood.

  The idea, the dream, the cautious hope that my seed was the one that had joined with hers and created the divine angel that was Kazmir, settled in my chest.

  Only knowing how crushed I’d be to find out I wasn’t his father, kept me from all-out claiming the baby as mine.

  What might have happened, I wondered, if Rivet hadn’t called two nights ago. Would Losha have come back into the bedroom, stripped out of her clothes, and laid her body next to mine? Would she have run her tongue from my neck to my ear like she loved to do? Would she have let me sink into her warm, wet body? Would she have cried and begged me to go deeper, faster, harder? Would she have fallen apart in my arms, her face flushed with our combined heat, a layer of sweat coating every inch of her skin?

 
Would she have finally told me she loved me?

  And there it was. The wall that stood between us was her inability to talk about her feelings. Beneath that hard shell she kept so firmly in place, I believed she cared about me, even loved me, but Losha couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  There’d been a time I believed her incapable of doing so. Not because she didn’t have feelings for me, but because her upbringing—being orphaned, being taken and trained by the KGB—had taught her she could never truly trust the love that was given to her enough to freely give it in return.

  28

  Losha

  When the pilot announced we’d land in under an hour, I found myself wishing our time in the sky could last a little longer. What I’d face once we arrived was an abyss of uncertainty.

  Where would Shiver take me? How much time would he spend with Kazmir and me? And the worst question of all—who had planted the bomb that almost killed me, my baby, and my pregnant best friend?

  Filled with trepidation, I made my way out to the main cabin with Kazmir in my arms.

  “May I?” asked Pinch.

  “Would you like to hold him?”

  “I would.”

  I handed Pinch the baby and watched as both he and Shiver played with him. Soon they had him in fits of giggles.

  What would it be like if this was my life—Shiver and me, raising our son together with the love and laughter of his friends and mine? Right now, it felt like a dream. One that would be ending as soon as the plane landed.

  Shiver sat in the seat next to me, and we both watched Pinch continue entertaining Kazmir. “Lost in thought, darling?”

  I looked into his eyes. “Darling?”

  Shiver smiled. “It’s what the duke always called the duchess.”

  “I’m sorry about your father,” I said, reaching for his hand.

  “Thank you.” He leaned in and kissed my temple. “I miss you so much.”

  I rested my forehead against his. “I miss you too.”

  I expected him to pull back, to make me look into his eyes, to ask if that meant I loved him, but he did none of those things. Instead, he didn’t even flinch. Not a single muscle moved. It was as though it was the most natural thing in the world for me to say even though I’d never said anything like it before.

  Kazmir fussed, and Pinch brought him over to where I sat. Instead of reaching for me, he reached for Shiver. He settled on Shiver’s lap, head on his chest, and soon was sound asleep.

  “Might have better luck fastening him in while he’s asleep,” suggested Pinch.

  Earlier, when we were getting ready to take off, Kazmir had wanted no part of staying in his car seat, and it wasn’t me he’d reached for then either; it had been Shiver.

  “He’s a sweet nipper,” Pinch whispered. “Wait until my father sees him. You’ll have a right child watcher with him.”

  I smiled. How easy this camaraderie was. Apart from my friendship with Zary, I hadn’t experienced easy relationships with many people. Shiver was the next closest person I had to a friend.

  “Shiv told you SIS doesn’t believe UR had anything to do with the bomb?”

  The look on Shiver’s face said everything I needed to know. This wasn’t news to him. He’d known this earlier, when I’d asked him outright. He hadn’t told me then, and he hadn’t intended to. Instead, he’d lied.

  He fastened the latch of the baby seat and slowly approached.

  “Don’t,” I seethed, walking to the single seat next to Kazmir.

  “Losha—”

  “I said, ‘don’t.’” I looked out the window, afraid that if I looked at him, I’d cry.

  “I’m sorry, I was going to—”

  I spun my head and glared at him. “Tell me, Shiver? Was that what you were going to do? Were you going to admit that you lied to me when you finally got around to telling me something that directly impacts my life and the life of my son? Is that what you were going to do?”

  I looked back toward the window, relieved when he didn’t say anything else. The easy peace that had blossomed between us for the briefest time was now shattered.

  Neither Shiver, Pinch, nor I spoke again until we were in the limousine.

  “Where are we going?” I asked when it looked like we were leaving London.

  “To the abbey,” Shiver muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  He looked straight at me. “We’re going to Whittaker Abbey, and that is where you and Kazmir will stay until we’ve been able to ascertain who planted the bomb and ensure there is no further threat.”

  “Like hell, we will,” I spat back at him. “Driver,” I said, opening the partition between us. “Please turn around and take me back to London.”

  I could see the man’s eyes meet Shiver’s in the rearview mirror, and saw Shiver shake his head.

  “Are you kidnapping us?”

  “Losha, please. These antics aren’t necessary.”

  “Antics? Did you say antics?”

  Even Pinch cringed.

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Really? In the same way that you didn’t mean it when you told me that they’d found nothing definitive about the bomb?”

  “I told you the truth.”

  “Leaving out the part about United Russia’s lack of involvement.”

  “There was no need to worry you until we knew more. There still isn’t.”

  This time Pinch didn’t just cringe; he groaned.

  29

  Shiver

  Losha was livid, and I was ready to throttle Pinch. Why couldn’t the man simply keep his bloody mouth shut until we’d reached the abbey?

  Once I got Losha and the baby settled, my intention had been to check in with Rivet to see if Pimm had developed a theory yet as to the bomb’s maker. Depending on his response, I may or may not have passed on that knowledge to her. I meant what I’d said; until there was more definitive information, there was no need for her to worry or speculate. I was doing enough of that for us both.

  When the driver pulled through the gates of Whittaker Abbey, I looked out at the estate that was now, in essence, mine. It looked different somehow, as though I were seeing it through a new set of eyes. For most of my life, the abbey had simply looked like my home. Now, from a distance, I saw it more as it was originally intended. The Palladian-style of architecture, so popular at its time of construction, had been more frequently employed in the design of public and municipal buildings, as the abbey was. Within its central freestanding “temple,” there was a main portico and entryway along with the dining rooms, ballroom, kitchen, and library. Two side porticos connected the symmetrical wings of the abbey, which housed the main drawing rooms and bedchambers, many of which were suites.

  There was a fine mist hovering over the gardens between the drive and the abbey, giving them an ethereal look. I thought of my mother, who was most likely sitting in her favorite drawing room, oblivious to the fact that, in only a few minutes’ time, her life would be irrevocably changed. Whether Kazmir was my baby or not, whether I modified the terms of the trust that had been handed down for generations, whether I accepted Rivet’s offer to take over MI6, the duchess would not know what hit her.

  Her son, the one she’d plied and molded, guilted into doing her bidding, was no longer. I, Thornton “Shiver” Whittaker, was my own man. I had hard decisions to make, both about my own life and the lives of those I cared about. What my mother wanted or, more importantly, didn’t want, no longer mattered unless whatever it was, directly impacted her in a negative way.

  “Where to, sir?” asked the driver.

  “Pinch?”

  “Drop me at Covington House, please.”

  It was as though Pinch was reading my thoughts. Part of what the duchess would have to accept was Darrow’s relationship with the groundskeeper’s son—whatever it was, for however long it lasted. I almost smiled in amusement when I imagined her reaction.

  I didn’t, though. Seated acr
oss from me was a very unhappy woman, and her reason for being so rested squarely on my shoulders.

  “Where will Kazmir and I be staying?” she asked. They were the first words she’d spoken to me in several minutes.

  “The main house for now. We can discuss where you’d be most comfortable, longer term, tomorrow.”

  She nodded, looking back out the window. “It’s beautiful,” I thought I heard her whisper.

  “That’s my favorite of the gardens,” said Pinch, pointing to the section where hollyhocks and wild roses grew. “I spent a lot of time in all twenty-eight acres of them, but that one brought me a certain peace.”

  I looked over at the faraway look on Pinch’s face.

  “My father and his father before him took great care to preserve the local biodiversity, whether it’s with the cutting gardens, the great lawns, or the ponds and woodland areas.”

  I would’ve loved to add to what Pinch said, and tell her which were my favorites. I, too, was proud of how my father and grandfathers honored the land and their responsibility to preserve it not only for future generations but also for the monarchy. However, Losha was too angry to listen to me wax nostalgic about my familial heritage. At least, for now, she was speaking to one of us.

  The driver pulled up to the residence where Darrow lived, and before I could ask Pinch to tell my sister we’d see her later, she was to the car.

  Darrow threw her arms around Pinch, who hugged her too.

  “Thank God you’re back,” she said, trying to see into the car. “Who’s that with you?”

  Before she could look, my friend put his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll see them later,” I heard him say before leading her down the path toward the front door of the house.

  She beamed back at him, leaving me feeling both happy for my sister and sad for myself. It was unlikely I’d ever be graced with such a gaze from Losha. For the time being, I just hoped she’d talk to me.