by Randol, Anna
When no one responded, she stood and walked to the door. She peered out into the corridor. No one was there.
Juliana returned to her desk.
She blinked.
There was a red rose in the center of it. A card was attached to the rose. She glanced around the room. “Where are you?”
But her spy was no longer there.
Her spy? Why was he hers? She didn’t even want him for anything but this one task.
Yet when she picked up the card, her fingers were weak and unsteady. It contained only one line.
Counting the minutes?
Chapter Nine
“What precisely are you wearing?” Juliana’s spy asked from where he’d suddenly appeared in her doorway.
She glared at him, looking up from the hat she was working on. She’d been rather proud that she’d managed to find a pair of trousers with no one the wiser. And she’d managed to secure it between seven different audiences. Tea with the prime minister. And a dinner meant to honor Lenoria’s annual grain harvest.
“Were you planning to scale the outside of the building? Swing in through the window?” he asked.
Perhaps. But now that he said it in that tone, she rather suspected that wasn’t what he had in mind.
“Sorry, Jules, there’s no way you could master that in a week. Can you even manage to climb to the top of your canopy bed?”
Insufferable man. “I could climb to the top of the bed.”
“Oh really? Do it.”
Why had she allowed herself to be baited?
“Take hold of the bar holding your curtain and pull yourself up. I’ll even let you start with your feet on the bed,” he said.
She climbed up on the bed, surprised at how unstable it was. She’d never stood on one before, but she doubted he would value that excuse.
She gripped the iron with both hands and pulled.
Her feet didn’t leave the coverlet.
“Perhaps if you jump?”
She gracefully lowered herself off the bed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
His gaze slowly traveled down her body. “Yes, I rather think I would.”
It had seemed like a good idea to leave her stays off when she dressed for this. Now she crossed her arms. “What is your name?”
“So you can write my execution orders?”
“No, so I can call you something other than a smug buffoon!” She placed her hand over her mouth. Had she truly just called him that aloud?
He looked more bemused than offended. “Most call me Wraith.”
“Is that your name?”
“It is what I am called.”
“Well then, Wraith. Let’s see you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Climb to the top of my—”
He jumped from the floor, grabbed the bar, swung his body up and around it, and perched in the space near the ceiling like a gargoyle. “Bed?” he finished.
“I hate you.”
“Good. I’m not precisely a fellow you should be fond of.” He swung off the bed and landed inches from her. “The other street urchins would mock me mercilessly.” He reached out and pulled the hem of her shirt lose from her trousers.
She stumbled back, her heart hammering. “What do you think you are doing?”
He didn’t even look distracted. “I have given this a good deal of thought. There are many methods of thievery. I think your best option will be to brazen it out.”
“What does that mean?”
“You simply walk into the room where the documents are being held.”
“That is insane.” Obviously, she shouldn’t have relied on him. That was worse than any plan she could have made on her own.
“It works far better than you think. My job for the next week will be to teach you not to betray yourself. And how to pick any locks you might encounter.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if I dressed as a maid and—”
“How will you explain why you’re dressed as a maid if you’re caught?”
“I don’t think—”
“That’s exactly it. You don’t think.” He leaned against her bedpost. “At least not like a criminal. You think like someone who wants to pretend to be a criminal. Two vastly different things.”
He might have a point. She’d seen plenty of people ape being a princess and she didn’t look a thing like that. At least she hoped not.
“I want you to put on the exact dress you will wear the night you plan to retrieve the letters.”
“I have no idea what I will be wearing.”
“Pick one.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“It is. You’re a princess. Simply order your servant to bring you a certain dress.”
He thought she was naive. “It will be a house party. There will be a dozen variables. The venue of the meal, the color of the hostess’s gown, the color of my escort’s waistcoat, whether there will be dancing afterward.”
He shrugged, an elegant motion that brought her eyes back to the broad strength of his shoulders. “Then pick the worst possible one you could be wearing.”
She sorted through all her dresses in her mind. “Fine.” She made it as far as her dressing room before she stopped. “I won’t be able to get into the dress on my own. And I can hardly call my maid in to help.”
“I’ll help.”
Why that— “Lecher!” She hissed. Was that why he’d asked her to change her clothing? “You already saw me nearly nude. Wasn’t that enough?”
His drawl was like satin over her skin. “Not nearly.”
She threw her slipper at him. “Well, it’s all you’re going to get.”
He prowled closer. “So you’re going to tell your maid you’ve decided to sleep in your clothes every night? Prudery is one of the first things that need to go when someone embarks on a life of crime.”
She wanted to clear that smug look from his handsome face. “You’re right.”
He paused. “I am?”
“Yes, but I warn you, I’m completely naked under this.” She reached up and slowly untied the bow that held the shirt closed at the top. It fell open, resting on the swells of her breasts. She took a deep breath, causing it to slip even further.
“Does it always take you this long to get undressed? No wonder you need a maid.”
Oh!
Juliana stepped into her dressing room and out of sight before she tugged off the rest of her clothing.
Ian was going to go mad. It was as simple as that. That had been a juvenile taunt, but his other option had been to take her royal virginity against the wall.
Damn, but she was rather glorious when she was flustered.
Even more so when she was angry.
In the throes of passion she must be—
“Are you all right?” Juliana called out. “Did you just groan?”
Certainly not.
She emerged a few minutes later completely swathed in a white linen night rail.
Her full lips tilted like a cat’s. “I’ll take the letters at night. So this is what I’ll be wearing.”
She looked so thoroughly pleased with herself that he didn’t have the heart to tell her that the best time to steal the letters would be in the day.
He’d let her think she’d won that one.
He pulled his picks from his sleeve. “Shall we start with the locks?”
She nodded.
He knelt at her bedroom door and removed the key protruding from the lock. She crouched beside him, so close he could smell the faint scent of roses on her skin. For an instant, he could think of nothing but lying her down on a bed covered with rose petals, of letting them drift over the curves of her body and settle onto the hollows.
Roses. That was rich. He was lucky if the beds he slept in didn’t have bugs.
“So inside this type of lock, there are a set of levers to prevent the bolt from sliding. What a key does is align those levers to the right height so the bolt can slide. Too high or too low and this lady
doesn’t open.”
“Locks are female?”
“Damned finicky things needing to be held just right in order to be able to open.”
“They seem rather male to me. They just need a quick twist and they’re done.”
He nearly dropped his pick. “I see I’m a wicked, wicked influence on you.”
Her lips nearly brushed his ear. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”
Ian showed her the process twice more. Then had her put her hands over his as he worked on the lock to gain a feel for gauging the tension and selecting the right pick. Only years of practice kept his hands from shaking.
He pulled his hands away. “Your turn.”
She accepted the tools from him and lowered her brows in concentration.
“It will probably take a long time to master—”
The lock clicked open under her hands.
“—how to do this. Never mind. Apparently you have more of a talent for crime than I anticipated.”
She beamed like a child just given a new treat. “What else can you teach me?”
Chapter Ten
Juliana had mastered the locks by the end of the second night. After learning the door locks Ian had supplied, the small locks on the desks and cabinets had been simple. It was all a matter of patience, and one thing a princess learned at a young age was patience.
She was feeling rather proud of herself at the start on their third training session. And giddy. Oh, she knew better than to feel that way. This was a serious endeavor. Her whole country could hang in the balance.
But these past few days had been fun.
She couldn’t honestly remember the last time she’d had fun.
She perched on the chair by her window and watched her room. She’d catch Wraith this time when he entered. She’d stacked glasses in front of her doors that would create a clatter if he entered that way. She sat by one window and could clearly see the other.
A horse clattered by below, she only glanced at it for a fraction of a second, but then Ian was there. Three feet from her, twirling one of her glasses in his fingers. “This was a nice touch. Truly original.”
She checked for mockery in his face.
He lifted a brow. “I did mean that.”
“Good. I thought it was a clever idea.”
He set the glass on the windowsill next to her. “You, Jules, are becoming more and more unprincesslike every day. Quite a disturbing trend.”
“I could issue a royal decree if that would make you feel better?”
“Yes, that would actually.”
“Would you honor it?”
“Of course.”
“Then I decree all spies must reveal their true names to the princess.”
He handed her a disassembled lock from his coat and his picks. “Wait,” he said when she would have started. He circled the room extinguishing all the candles. “Now go.”
She slowly tried picks in the lock one at a time until she found one that was the correct size. “You won’t distract me that easily. You owe me your name.”
“I granted you a royal decree and the only thing you want is my name?”
The bolt slid open in her hand. “Yes.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Only the silvery light from the moon illuminated his face. The scar on his cheek seemed to stand out in sharper contrast. And, for the first time, she noticed lines of exhaustion around his eye.
She longed to trace those lines, but she knew as soon as she did, this quiet moment would be over. He’d make some ribald comment, his smirk would return, and she’d have to respond in kind, as if her heart wasn’t beating so hard it hurt. As if her skin didn’t feel itchy and too tight.
“Ian,” he said.
“Ian.” She tested the name. It fit him. Simple, yet not plain. “And your last name?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not mine. It’s simply one I picked for the sake of having one.”
“But everyone has a last name.”
He took the lock from her hand. “In your world, Princess, not in mine.”
He was putting distance between them. A process she was far too familiar with. People who kept a respectful distance when they found out who she was. All the bowing. The constant overpoliteness.
Ian had never done any of those things and she didn’t want him to start.
“I’m from places fouler than the mud on your shoe,” he said. “So foul, in fact, the filth wouldn’t even dream of aspiring to be the mud on your shoe.”
“You aren’t mud. You’re a spy.”
“Some might argue they’re the same thing. Besides, I was a spy. I’m currently between positions.”
“You are not between positions. If you need money, I can pay you to teach me.”
“Ah.” He smiled slowly. “Let’s not bring money into our relationship. Just a good old-fashioned exchange of services.”
Sweet mercy, he made it all sound perfectly wicked.
“Definitely time to move on to our next lesson,” Ian said, pointing to the lock in her hand.
She blinked at his abrupt change in topic. “What is it?”
“Over here, Princess.” He laced her fingers though his.
She sucked in a breath. Princesses didn’t hold hands. Oh, they touched people. She held men’s arms. She placed her fingers on men’s hands to be kissed. But Ian’s fingers tangled with hers, more secure and more tantalizing than she would have imagined.
His fingers were strong and callused to the point of being rough. She’d never had cause to be embarrassed by the smoothness of her hands, but she couldn’t help a brief worry that he’d think her soft and useless by comparison.
He led her in front of her dressing table and sat her in the chair. He lit a candle and placed it next to her.
When she tried to turn her head to see him better, he stood behind her and placed his hands on either side of her face, stopping her. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”
“I know what I look like.”
“You only think you do. Your face gives away every single thing you are feeling.”
“No, it does not.” She happened to have perfected a stoic, regal demeanor.
Ian lifted a brow. “Does too. Now watch.” He caught her face again. “Watch yourself. Not me.” His hands skimmed down the sides of her neck. “You are flushing. All delicate and pink.”
“I am not—” But she was. She could see it.
His hands continued their stroking. “Your eyelids are heavy. Your eyes dilated.”
They were. “I hardly think people are going to be . . . stroking me when I go to retrieve the letters.”
He paused and she met his eyes in the mirror. “Shall I use my words instead?”
“Yes.” Before she embarrassed herself by moaning.
He removed his hands. “Shall I tell you how your night rail taunts me? I have seen women all over Europe in every state of undress. Women from the Orient in silken wisps designed to tempt a man to madness. But this plain linen gown haunts my very dreams until I fight going to sleep each night because I know what my dreams will bring. Dreams of lowering my mouth to your breasts. Of laving your tight nipple through the thin fabric. But what truly torments me is that I know no matter how vivid the dreams, they will never compare with the reality.”
Juliana ached. She’d never ached so much in her entire life. She wanted him to soothe it. She wanted him to lower his hands and—
“See, Princess? Everything shows in your face.” Ian stepped away from her chair, grinning. “If someone can read your face, they can tap into your fears. Or your desires. They can twist you any which way they choose.
The air slowly escaped her lungs.
He hadn’t meant any of it. She’d nearly offered up her breasts for his sampling and he’d never meant a word. What had she been thinking? Even if he had meant what he said, she couldn’t give herself to anyone but her future husband. All the royal families she would potentially marry into would expect it. S
ome even would demand it be verified.
Ian was simply a pleasant aberration. She’d learn from him, treasure the respite, but nothing more.
“I’m glad you have decided to keep your distance. I have far too many women to keep track of already, and I suspect princesses are difficult to maintain.”
Her eyes flew to his.
“All on your face.”
That did it. “Teach me how to hide it.”
It felt a bit like Juliana was asking him to break a stained glass window. This had always been his reason behind that little demonstration.
Or at least had been his intention at first.
But watching her desire for him play across her face was the most arousing thing he’d ever been cursed enough to witness.
Thankfully, he’d also witnessed her decision to relegate him back to the rubbish heap where he belonged.
Wise woman.
“The first step is to slow your breathing.”
She sucked in a long breath.
“Not so much that it is noticeable. Just a fraction slower. Fear, anger, passion. All of those will change your breathing. By controlling your breathing, you can fool your body.”
Her next inhale was smoother.
“Now look back in the mirror. Only a fool would be as awkward as you appear to be.”
Hurt flashed across her face.
“Freeze. Do not move a muscle.” He pointed to where her brows had drawn together in her forehead. “Emotion first comes out through the eyes and eyebrows. Keep them still.” He tapped the groove that had formed between them. “Relax this.”
And do it quickly.
The hurt on her face was making him feel rather unsettled.
The change in her breathing was subtle this time. Only someone trained to look for it would notice. The tension left her forehead.
Why did he care so much that it left her mind as well? “For the record, you’re rather quick at picking up all of this.”
Her eyebrows started to lift in pleased surprise, but then they smoothed and lowered back into a neutral position.
“Very nice. I might make a proper spy out of you after all.”
This time, her eyes gave nothing away at all.
Robbed. It was if he’d just discovered his purse had been lifted.