Lucinda stood up and Will reached for her gown, but he missed it.
“Please, don’t—”
“Do I need to fetch you myself?” Charlotte said, peeking around the door.
“Rest well, Your Grace,” Lucinda said, offering him a wistful smile then turning to go, the door shutting quietly behind her.
Will groaned with frustration. “Not bloody likely.”
The next morning came too early for Lucinda, the deep sleep she’d fallen into after speaking with Will not something she was eager to leave behind.
But she had, with much poking and prodding from Charlotte, and the two had readied themselves for the day, taking a light meal in their room, then meeting Will in the yard.
Will had used every argument he could to keep from riding in the carriage with Lucinda and her aunt to Bampton Manor, but Charlotte had insisted. And when a Fury insisted, well, not even the Duke of Clairemont could say no.
Sol’s reins were tied to the carriage and the three set off for Oxfordshire, Lucinda on one seat, with Will and Charlotte opposite.
Lucinda had tried in earnest to keep up with the steady stream of conversation, but she’d failed miserably, nodding off just after Charlotte made mention of the returning rain and not waking until they’d pulled into the circular drive of Bampton Manor.
She’d seen to their guest, instructing the servants to escort Will to a suitable room, then insisted that her aunt rest, before taking her leave and running as fast as she could to the stables.
In the past, the familiar smell of hay and horses had always been a comfort to Lucinda. But not today. The rain beat down outside, drumming a military tattoo on the roof.
She stood in Winnie’s stall, watching the mare as she attempted to shift her cumbersome weight. She’d arrived to find Perkins watching closely as the veterinary-surgeon examined her. Though she was due to foal, she was not acting in a manner that led anyone to believe this would be an uneventful birth.
The mare ignored her oats and ambled awkwardly nearer to stand with her head next to Lucinda’s. She stroked the chestnut’s silky flaxen mane and kissed her irresistibly soft nose. “Whatever is the matter, Winnie?”
The mare nuzzled Lucinda’s face, chin, cheek, and temple, huffing warm breath that stirred Lucinda’s hair above her ear, then dropped her head low, her right eyelid drooping.
Will appeared, propping his elbows on Winnie’s gate and gently clucking to the mare. “How is she?”
Lucinda gave Will a look of disappointment. “I instructed the servants to lock you in your room.”
“I escaped.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” she said wryly.
“Because you know me too well,” he answered. “Now, how fares Lady Winifred?”
Lucinda took a long worrisome look at the mare before answering Will. “We can’t be sure, but we believe it may be related to the foal. It’s something to do with her right side. She’d not able to move as she should.”
Will slowly reached for Winnie, the mare allowing him to rub her forelock. “And you? Are you all right?”
Now I am, Lucinda thought. “As well as can be expected.”
She yawned unexpectedly, her hand coming to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she offered, meeting his gaze.
Will stepped closer. “You need your rest. I’ll stay with the mare.”
“I was not attacked by highwaymen mere hours ago nor can I currently lay claim to several spectacular bruises and one hideous wound on—”
Will placed his index finger on Lucinda’s mouth.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
She nodded a “no.”
“Slept in a comfortable bed since leaving town?”
She begrudgingly blew out a breath.
Will lifted his finger and replaced it with a gentle kiss. “Four hours. That is all that I ask.”
“But if she worsens—”
He moved toward the gate and let free the latch, swinging the door wide enough for Lucinda. “I send come for you at once.”
Lucinda readied to argue, but Will came up behind her, kneading her shoulders with his powerful hands. “Go.”
“Do I have your word?” she asked, leaning into the feel of his touch.
“Of course, Lucinda. If the mare worsens and there is something to be done, I will send for you immediately.”
He dropped his hands and pushed her gently forward, closing the gate behind her.
Lucinda lingered, watching the mare wearily. “What do you mean ‘something to be done’?”
“If Winnie’s condition worsens and there is nothing that can be done for her,” Will said gently, reaching at and caressing her shoulder, “would you want me to fetch you, though it would mean leaving her side?”
“Of course not,” she answered immediately. “I would not have her without the comfort.”
“Then we are in agreeement. Now go. You will be of no use to Winnie unless you take care of yourself,” he said simply.
She could not argue with his logic nor the exhaustion that inhabited every last bone in her body.
She reached for Winnie once more, lovingly patting her soft head then turning to go.
Will kicked his chamber’s door shut and removed his sodden coat, revealing the white shirt beneath, now soaked in blood.
Winnie had remained stable for some time after Lucinda had gone, making Will hopeful that she would fully recover. And then she’d staggered toward the gate of her stall and collapsed against it. Will had yelled for Perkins, but the few moments it took the man to run the length of the barn aisle to Winnie’s stall were too many. The mare was gone, the only thing left to do being to save the foal.
Perkins had disappeared into the tack room and returned with the necessary tools. When it came time, Will pulled the sleek chestnut-colored foal free without injury. Perkins had left Will with the foal momentarily, returning shortly with a mare whose own foal was nearly weaned. The little one had curiously sniffed the mare as she did him, the two falling into a companionable silence before the foal nosed his way to suckle at her teat.
It was so beautiful, and yet Will could not appreciate it fully, knowing the pain to foal’s beginnings would bring to Lucinda.
A soft knock at the door interrupted Will’s thoughts. He crossed the room and quietly cracked open the door.
“She’s in the library, Your Grace.” One of his men stood just outside, the light from a slim candlestick he carried illuminating his face.
Will nodded his thanks and turned from the door. He crossed the chamber and picked up his discarded shirt from earlier in the day. He dressed quickly then stepped out into the hall.
The waiting agent handed the candlestick to Will. He opened the door carefully, and the two moved silently down the hall.
They didn’t encounter anyone on their way to the library, the lateness of the hour shrouding the household in sleep and darkness.
But not Lucinda, Will thought to himself with dread as he silently padded his way down the long gallery where her long-dead ancestors eyed him from their gilded-framed portraits lining the walls.
The two men descended the mahogany staircase and crossed the entry hall, avoiding a massive stone sculpture of a horse in the process. They stopped in front of the library’s closed door and Will handed the candlestick to the agent. He opened the door and stepped in, searching the room for Lucinda. He could not see the glow of candlelight anywhere. The room was huge, with tall bookcases standing at right angles to the walls and creating aisles down the carpeted length to the cluster of chairs grouped in front of a fireplace at the far end.
A faint sound caught his attention. The soft crinkling noise came again and he followed it, silently crossing to the opposite corner. He reached the last of the bookshelves and saw a spill of soft candlelight gleaming on leather book spines. Inching silently closer, Will leaned to his right to see beyond the rows of books.
The source of the sound was immediately apparent. It came
again as Lucinda turned a page of the large book lying open on her lap.
Will stepped out into the light, clearing his throat as he did so.
Lucinda looked up in surprise. “Will?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said in response, the agony of the news he must share weighing heavily on his heart.
“Is it Winnie?” she asked anxiously, moving to sit on the very edge of the leather-bound chair. “I’m sure you’re disappointed that I did not sleep longer, but I do believe I’ve discovered what’s troubling her,” she continued, opening a large leather-bound book in her hands. “It has to do with the foal’s placement in relation to her stomach and the—”
“Lucinda,” Will interrupted, stepping forward farther into the candlelight then leaning down on one knee, reaching to take Lucinda’s small hand in his. “Lucinda,” he began, his throat thick. “She was gone in an instant. I wante you there—but I could not leave her alone.”
Lucinda’s eyes pooled with tears and she let out a wail of protest.
“No, please tell me it’s not true.” She stopped abruptly, her voice cracking with emotion. “Not Winnie,” She stood from the settee, her embroidered wrapper parting to reveal a nearly translucent white cotton nightrail.
He couldn’t bear to see her like this, hurt and in pain. “My God, Lucinda, you don’t know what I would do to make it a lie,” he began, standing again to meet her gaze. “But it’s the truth.”
“No. Not Winnie,” she whispered, then fell silent as emotion clearly overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes tightly and wrapped her arms about herself, looking as though she thought to block the world from her battered heart.
“Lucinda,” Will uttered quietly, not sure of what else to do.
She began to cry, soft whimpers of distress escaping her mouth.
“Lucinda.”
“Say my name again,” she pleaded, her eyes opening to meet his.
“Lucinda.”
She edged closer to him and reached out, her arms coming to encircle his waist.
Will enfolded her in his warmth and bent his head to gently kiss the top of her head, her silken hair smelling of spring. He uttered words of comfort into the soft shell of her ear, eager to end her suffering.
She raised her head to his and looked into his eyes, a wealth of pain and sorrow, questions and something Will could not quite guess at reflected in her own. Slowly, she rose on tiptoe, then placed her lips on his tentatively.
He hesitated, pulling his mouth from hers and looking deep into her eyes. “You do not want this,” he said in earnest, his breathing labored.
“You’re wrong,” she began, resting her cheek on his, her lips nearly touching his ear. “I want this. But more importantly, I need you.”
Lucinda wrapped her arms around him, pressing the length of her body against him. She returned his bruising kisses with unbridled enthusiasm, her tongue first retreating, then darting out to meet his, learning the sensuous rhythm with an eagerness that drove Will beyond rational thought.
Her fingers pulled at his shirt and Will’s blood burned. He broke the kiss and yanked the garment up and over his head to toss it behind him to the floor, the pain from his wound lessening with each second.
Her hand reached for his, moving it to the ribbon at her neck. He tugged and the ribbons fell loose, releasing the front of her wrapper. The garment fell open, exposing an expanse of creamy skin. He caught the hem of her wrapper and nightrail in both hands. With her gaze locked on his, she raised her arms and he pulled her nightclothes up and off. He closed his fists, bunching the fabric, and bent his head, breathing in her scent before he looked at Lucinda.
She had slender legs and sleek thighs, hips that cradled the flat curve of stomach where the small indentation of her belly button seemed flagrantly female. And her breasts were perfect, high and firm, the nipples a deep dusky pink.
She touched him, her fingers shyly caressing his upper chest before trailing lower. She pulled at the buttons on his breeches before finally freeing them one by one.
He backed her up against the bookcase, muscles tense as he hesitated, though he could hardly bear to do so. “There is no going back after this. Once we join, nothing will ever be the same for either of us.”
Lucinda gave him a pleading look. “I’ve no desire to go back, Will. Now come to me.”
The reasons for avoiding involvement with Lucinda disappeared, practical logic overthrown by what Will could not deny in his heart. He wanted Lucinda more than any other woman he had ever encountered. But beyond the lust, he loved her. He’d never given her the words, but he needed to show her now with his mind, body, and spirit—their lovemaking a testament to his true feelings.
He lifted her up, hooking her legs around his waist before piercing her damp core with his cock. Her sudden, sharp intake of breath was quickly followed by panting as each thrust sent her pleasure higher.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she moaned, clutching at Will’s shoulders. Her nails bit into his skin with each rhythmic stroke, the pain only heightening the erotic play.
Will covered her breast with his right hand, toying lightly with the nipple, then kneading, tugging, and finally pinching it between his forefinger and thumb. He moved to the other breast, roughly fondling it until Lucinda uttered a breathless “Please!”
She moved restlessly beneath him, instinctively spreading her legs farther before her body went rigid, her cry of surrender signaling her climax.
Will released her nipple and slowed his pace, savoring the flavor that was uniquely Lucinda before raising his head.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Lucinda could not have known what those words meant to him, the thought of ever surrendering himself so completely to one person simply not possible only weeks before.
He quickened his pace, grinding against her. She tilted her hips, moving in time as if they’d done this dance before.
Will could no longer wait. He drove deep inside her, his cock pulsing as he surrendered to the pounding lust and need.
He blanketed her with his body, his face buried in her silken hair. “Lucinda,” he said simply, repeating her name again and again.
She said nothing in response, only enfolded him in her arms and held on tightly.
As Will and the handful of Corinthians waited for the remaining two agents to arrive, the words “no rest for the wicked” felt tailored just for him.
He’d helped Lucinda into her nightrail and wrapper after their lovemaking, and walked her back to her bedchamber. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he’d resisted the temptation to linger in the interest of duty. He’d made his way through the darkened house and across the grounds to the barn. He’d not been the first to arrive at the prearranged meeting, but he’d not been the last, either—a testament to his superior strength if ever there was one.
A young barn cat wound around Will’s legs, purring loudly. He bent to pick it up and sat down on an upturned bucket, tucking the warm fuzzy calico on his lap.
Superior strength, my arse, he thought.
He should not, under any circumstances, have allowed himself to make love to Lucinda. Never, in all of his time spent with the Corinthians, had he made such a fatal mistake. He knew damn well that the sight of her alone in the library, wearing little more than a few scraps of fabric, had tested his will beyond measure.
But he could have resisted that. It would have been hard. Hell, he would have been hard. For days, most likely. But he could have done it. He’d have stopped before he took her virginity. He could have done it. He knew he could have done it.
The cat jumped from Will’s lap and trotted across the hay-strewn floor, pausing to tilt its head and sniff the wind before heading off toward the tack room.
Will let out a long breath, watching the cat as it disappeared around the corner, its tail giving one final flick of farewell. Around him, the Corinthians continued to gather, but Will couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the last spot where the cat had be
en.
Staring. Still staring. But seeing nothing.
Thank God he’d had the sense not to tell Lucinda that he loved her too. At least not in so many words. His body had communicated what his brain could not, and he knew, even if she perhaps did not, that the intimate joining of their bodies had been a silent testament to his feelings for her.
Even now, the concept defied comprehension. Despite any long-buried, secret desires that hid deep within his heart, Will had long ago given up on the likelihood that anyone could ever love him. If a man’s own father was unable to feel affection for his son, then what hope was there?
And then Lucinda had declared her feelings in no uncertain terms, completely destroying what Will had settled long ago. But more than that, the tender feelings she inspired in him were in direct contrast to the single-minded, cold focus he needed to do his job. Spying was not for those inclined to softness or fancy. It was a dangerous vocation that demanded unwavering concentration, the ability to make the right decision no matter how difficult, and a deep conviction to do what was right—even if lives were lost along the way.
Cold, calculating, demanding, dangerous. The words described exactly who Will was—or rather, they were the qualities that had made him the most valued of all Corinthian agents.
Until now.
The last of the summoned agents entered the barn and joined the group illuminated in the low circle of light.
“I know you’re all tired, so we’ll make this as brief as possible,” Will began. “Weston, what news of Garenne?”
Weston stepped forward, his right eye ringed with ugly black, blue, and livid red bruises. “Our sources confirm what we suspected: The Frenchman made inquiries several months ago in the area concerning Lady Lucinda, including the details of her estate grounds.”
“Any sightings recently?”
“None that we can discern,” Weston replied, “though the local frogs have been active of late. None of our sources are willing to give the bastard up—at least, not yet.”
Will paused to take the information in. Garenne had not lured Lucinda from London with false tales, that much was clear. But it didn’t mean that he wasn’t lurking in the shadows even now. “I assume that whomever blackened your eye has been taken care of?”
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