A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring)

by Lynn Winchester

  “Attraction” seemed too tame a word for what she was feeling for the man sitting silently beside her.

  “Shall I get us a drink?” He broke the silence of their box, startling Vic from her reverie.

  She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Yes, I would like that.”

  He stood, straightening his coat before offering a curt bow and leaving the box.

  With him gone, she let out the heavy breath she’d been holding, allowing the tremor in her hands to work its way into her arms and chest.

  Attraction felt too much like terror, but at least with terror she could leave whatever it was that scared her. With Richard…she couldn’t simply walk away from whatever it was she felt for him. And since she’d revealed herself and the operation, he was in just as much potential danger as she was.

  However, she was more than capable of protecting herself in all manner of dangerous situation. Could he say the same? It was her duty to protect him as well as work beside him.

  Drat.

  She should have gone with him when he left to retrieve their drinks.

  A presence behind her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she tensed. Her hand rising to her thigh, she nearly cursed aloud when she remembered she’d left her dagger at home. She’d had a ridiculous notion that, perhaps, this was one night she wouldn’t need it. She would be with Richard… It would be a lovely evening.

  Fool.

  She held her breath, listening for movement, and when nothing sounded, she risked a look, turning her head to gaze behind her.

  No one. The box was empty save her.

  Exhaling a shuddering breath, she stood, nervous energy winding her up like a mantel clock.

  A shadow moved over her, and she spun on her heel, her hand at her dagger-less thigh.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Richard said, raising two glasses of champagne.

  Victoria laughed, relief filling her. “I am a little jumpy, I suppose. I have never been to the opera before…”

  He entered the box, setting the flutes on the table beside her seat. He moved to stand beside her, over her, his attentions pinned to her.

  “First time alone with a man?” He raised his hand…and gently pressed the blunt tip of a single finger against the pulse point in her temple. She could feel her blood racing to that one point, as if to greet him.

  Slowly, achingly, he slid his finger down her cheek to the crease of her lips, where he touched her trembling bottom lip. She gasped.

  “Yes,” she murmured, her throat tight. “It is my first time alone with a man.” One that wasn’t family or paid by her family, that was. She’d never been alone with a gentleman, especially one she couldn’t stop leaning toward, her skin begging for more of his touch, for more contact with the heat of him.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “What about in dark alleys behind the homes of dukes…”

  Narrowing her eyes, she quipped, “What about it? Are you complaining about my saving your life? If so, I can easily put a blade where that man meant to put one.” She planted her gloved hands on her hips and nearly groaned when Richard crossed his arms over his chest. He looked much too handsome when he did that.

  “I am more than grateful for your saving my life, but…there has been one thing on my mind since. Where did you take that man?”

  Vic wasn’t surprised by his question but rather by the fact that she hadn’t even thought of the man since that night.

  Disconcerted, she dropped her hands from her hips and her gaze from his face.

  “Harry transported him to Leavenson’s house, then he came back to get me from the alley. I haven’t thought to ask about him since then.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’d like to believe that, if he’d said something of importance, Leavenson would have shared it with us.”

  “Would he?” Richard’s question immediately preceded the sounds of the orchestra calling the audience back to the auditorium.

  He and Vic returned to their seats, and the second half began. Victoria attempted to listen to the dramatic romance unfolding before her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Leavenson: his list, his involvement in the agency, and his silence on the matter of Richard’s attempted murderer’s interrogation.

  …

  “I will ask my father about the interrogation in the morning,” Victoria announced as the carriage pulled away from the opera house. Despite the shrillness, she’d barely heard a note of the opera; she’d been so intent on watching Richard watching the opera, from the corner of her eye. His profile was breathtakingly handsome, his features beautiful in their perfection, even his lips, which were somewhat plump for a man’s and perfectly situated.

  And now, in the confines of the carriage, she couldn’t stop looking at him, and he’d noticed it, giving back as good as he got, his golden gaze taking in her face, her lips, and then dropping to where tendrils of her hair had come loose to brush against her neck.

  “When was the last time you…did something just for you?”

  Confused, she blurted, “I do something for me every day.”

  He clasped his hands in his lap as if waiting patiently for her to continue. Still uncertain of what he meant, she added, “I train every day—”

  “Why?” he broke in.

  “Well…because I enjoy doing it.”

  “But why? Why do you train so much? Certainly you won’t need those skills once you’re growing a family of your own. Will you need kung fu to plan a family meal…or make love with your husband?”

  The audacity of his question stoked her rage, but the desire flickering in his gaze stoked the fire in her belly.

  She found her voice, pushing the words out. “You wouldn’t speak like this with any other debutante.”

  A slow, devastating smile began on one side of his mouth and spread to the other, turning the whole of his expression into one a demon of sensuality would wear.

  “You, my dear, are like no other debutante. You are far more interesting…with your landscape painting, embroidery, lock picking, and lifesaving.”

  A flush bloomed in her cheeks, climbing up from her chest.

  “Those women are no match for you, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his chin where a growth of golden hair had begun to frame his face. It lent him a dashing air, which only added to the overall picture of a fallen angel. One she feared she’d offer her soul to.

  “Oh? Why not?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “Because.”

  Huffing, she said, “Because why?”

  Before she could protest, Richard slid across his seat and then moved to sit beside her, the thickness of his thigh pressed against the softness of hers. His hands cradled her face, and she let him, wonder and hope twirling in her stomach.

  Slowly, much too slowly, his face descended until his lips pressed against hers. It was gentle, soft, probing. And again, she let him. She wanted this, needed this. To feel beautiful.

  As if hearing her deepest desires, he pressed harder, his lips becoming demanding, seeking her surrender, her abandonment.

  His right hand slid from her face to glide along her neck, raising gooseflesh wherever his fingers grazed her. From her neck, his hand found purchase just beneath her breast, where his thumb rubbed the tautness of her upper belly. She shuddered, leaning into his touch. His mastery.

  But the kiss was over too soon, as the carriage pulled up in front of her home. Sliding away from her, Richard readjusted his coat. He cleared his throat before saying in a raspy voice, “Never underestimate your power over me, Victoria.”

  Blinking at him, she skimmed her hot lips with the pads of her fingers. Her lips were puffy, kiss-swollen. Her body thrumming with unmet need she couldn’t comprehend, Victoria stepped from the carriage and raced up the stairs, the scorching memory of his kiss branding her very soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Despite the sleepless night brought on by heated dreams of entwined limbs,
intoxicating kisses, and deep golden eyes, Victoria made good on her promise to Verity—to speak with their father—as soon as she was dressed the next morning. After breakfast, she hardened her resolve and sought her father out in his study. There was much to tell him, much to admit.

  And you will be all the stronger for it…

  She wished she could believe that.

  Knocking on his study door, she held her breath, the craven part of her hoping her father was too busy to see her. And she was weak for not telling him about her failure in the first place. Her pride had taken a hit and she couldn’t stomach the thought of losing her father’s esteem, and because of that, she’d become what she’d never wanted to be: a coward.

  She would remedy that now.

  “Come,” her father called.

  Victoria pushed the door open and stepped inside. As expected, her father rose from behind his desk and raised his arms to her. She walked into his embrace, taking it gladly.

  “Darling, what brings you here to give me such pleasure?” her father asked, his voice joyous. Oh, why did he have to be so wonderful?

  “Papa, I have something of great import to tell you,” she began, and his face immediately wrinkled with concern.

  “What is it, my dear? Tell me,” he coaxed, directing her to sit in the chair beside his desk. Her father, the Earl of Gadstoke, a close, personal friend of the King, and the man who gave her life, knelt beside her chair to meet her gaze.

  Tears stung behind her eyes, but she refused to give them purchase. Then, she told him all: about her night at the Banebridge party, of being discovered by Richard and threatening him, and how she was easily recognized on the street, out in the open.

  “I kept the truth of my first encounter with Richard from you because I did not think it would become such a burden—that I would become such a burden to you…to our operation,” she finished, her face aflame yet her fingers chilled. After a moment of silence, she steeled herself for what she would find and lifted her face to look at him.

  There was surprise, yes, and there was anger—as expected—but there was also unadulterated love.

  “Papa?”

  “Victoria,” he began, pushing to his feet and bringing Victoria to her feet with him. He gripped her elbows, squeezed, and then sighed. “I cannot understand why you wouldn’t come to me with this in the beginning.”

  “I failed,” she replied, her voice catching. “I couldn’t face my mistake.”

  Her father gently patted her cheek, offering her a small smile. “Darling, it would not have mattered if you were found naked, dancing on the earl’s chest—you are still my daughter, I am still your father, and Lord knows, mistakes are often made. I have never expected perfection from my children—”

  “But all the training—”

  “Was so you could gain the skills necessary for a future in the service of the Crown.” He sighed, tipping back on his heels. “From the beginning, I knew what an asset those skills would be. And I’ve never been a stickler for propriety. I cannot believe a woman is any less capable than a man.”

  “Yes, I know that, but—”

  “I never expected you to take such an interest in training. I had hoped you would grow to master your skills, but I also wanted you to have a life outside the dàochǎng. One where you meet an honorable gentleman, marry, make a home of your own, and discover the blessing of having children.”

  Stunned at the passion in his voice, tears pricked the back of her eyes. “You want that for me?”

  “Victoria, darling, of course I want that for you. Isn’t that what every father wants for his daughter? Yes, you are a gifted and accomplished Amazon—battle ready and capable of doing whatever you put your mind to, but…” He rose to his feet, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. Trembling, she pressed her face into her father’s palm. “I ache for you to know what living feels like, my dear.”

  “But, Papa, I am living,” she argued, peering up at him through the teardrops on her lashes.

  “Are you?”

  As if a wave of the ocean crashed over her, her father’s words stole the breath from her body.

  She had been living, hadn’t she? She was living, breathing, consuming, training, laughing, loving her family… But was there more she was missing?

  When she was with Richard, it felt as though she held a part of herself back, the part that she rarely let see the light of day. The part of her that yearned for life experience outside of bloody knuckles and sweat-soaked training clothes. An experience that would thrill her, mind and body.

  Being with him did both of those things—and he certainly did nothing to bolster her pride. Whenever she was with him, she was reminded how human she really was, how vulnerable, how little experience she had facing an opponent who smiled and laughed and engaged her intelligence and senses.

  Had she been living before she came to London and clashed with Richard?

  No. And the truth of that pierced her.

  Trembling, she met her father’s gaze. “I thought the more I trained, the happier you would be,” she admitted, her heart thundering. “I did it to please you.”

  His face fell. “My dearest…you have always pleased me. There is nothing you can do that would make me any prouder of you than I already am. What you see as mistakes, failures, are part and parcel of being human. And, might I add, I am relieved that you aren’t as perfect as you seem.” He chuckled.

  A smile found its way to her lips. “You mean that?”

  “Of course. And if Lord Richard can help us, then by all means, let him help.”

  “But what will people think?”

  “Does it matter? Once we’ve tried or exonerated the men on that list, you’ll no longer have to play the happy couple. Use this as you would use any weapon in your arsenal.”

  She was numb when she left her father’s office, her feet moving of their own volition, carrying her up the stairs to sit at the escritoire in her bedchamber.

  Once her operation within the agency came to an end, so would her time with Richard. She could have been eager, maybe relieved at the thought. Instead, a gray sadness blossomed into an ache that followed her like a cloud overhead.

  Holding her breath, she wrote a short note, addressing it to Lord Richard, care of The Duke of Gwynys—since she did not have his personal address.

  Lord Richard,

  You may escort me to the Algren garden party.

  She left it unsigned as Richard had when he’d sent those bright blue roses. Vic knew he’d immediately understand what she meant, and that he would probably arrive on their doorstep, two days hence, with a knowing grin on his beautiful face.

  Returning downstairs, she sent a houseboy with the message and promptly forgot about it. At least that’s what she told herself as she sat with Verity, Honoria, and their mother, discussing that night’s ball at the Earl of Greenley’s townhouse. Another ball, another dull evening of fawning company, bold cads, and flavorless fare. But another evening to discover a new realm of likes, dislikes, passions, and peeves— She was alive, after all.

  …

  The man wiped the blood from his lip and growled up at the masked man, peering down at him, hatred burning in his dark eyes. That was all he could see of the Golden Man’s face—his shit-colored eyes. The eyes of a man no better than him. A man who dared to raise a hand to him.

  Struggling to his feet, he stared at the man before him, squaring his shoulders.

  “I will not bend to your will again, and you are a fool to think you can control the whole of the world from your row house.”

  Golden spat. “And you are a fool to think you could go against us—against me—and not be punished for it. By God, you nearly killed the Duke of Gwynys’s brother—a viscount, no less. Did you think I wouldn’t discover your error, and that you lost the man you hired to do the deed? You have failed and failed again, Black.”

  “Your way has done nothing but fatten your own pockets. When will any of us see a sixpence of tha
t money—money that I have delivered to you, each and every time?” He cackled, an ugly sound in such a resplendent place, then continued. “You would be nothing without me, my connections.”

  It was the Golden Man’s turn to laugh, and this raised the hairs on his neck.

  “Your connections? You mean connections like Viscount Ganwyd? If only you’d succeeded in ridding us of him. Before, he was nothing to us, merely a pretty face at a party. But now, after that bungle of an attempted murder, he has become a problem that must be dealt with.”

  Stunned, he tensed. He knew the Cards had deep pockets, long arms, and slippery fingers, but he never thought they would speak of his friends. No one spoke of his friends.

  “What of him?” he asked, his boldness a tad thinner than it was a moment before.

  “Lord Richard has decided to join against us; he and a lovely black-haired lady are, even now, plotting our downfall. The fools.” The Golden Man moved away, pacing, his hand disappearing beneath his mask to grasp his chin. Even in the shadows and anonymity of Hedo’s House, the arse wore his gold mask.

  “How do you know? What have you heard?” He remembered, then, the woman who’d been with Richard outside of Benford’s house. Was she the same woman Golden was talking about? What were the chances that she wasn’t?

  “The opera is a great place to see and be seen…and to not be seen.”

  “So…” he prodded, tired of the twisting of words.

  Golden spat. “So, I was able to see Downing and a Lady Victoria Daring, daughter of the Earl of Gadstoke.” He could hear the smarmy smile on the man’s face. “They seemed…close. I have no doubt she and the viscount are making plans to thwart your next assignment—which will be your last, if you cannot neutralize the new threat…”

  His mouth dry, his throat as sandpaper, his chest aching from the pounding of his heart, he only wanted to lie back and forget this conversation, forget the man before him and ever meeting him. Of ever allowing himself to give in to the sin that had turned him from respectable son to despicable wretch. Of giving the Golden Man something he could use to control his every breath.