Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01]

by The Pretender

  “Yes. You deserve to know the truth, so that you may decide for yourself.”

  “And what is the truth?”

  It came out on a breath. “That I … I love you, Simon.”

  His expression didn’t change. If anything, he withdrew even further. “You love me.”

  “Yes. I love you and I want to be with you forever. I came to you tonight to force your hand, but I cannot go through with it. I love you enough that I want you to be happy.”

  “Happy.”

  “Stop that. Stop answering me with my own words. I love you, and I want you to love me back. But that is for you to decide, not me.”

  “Yes, I’d rather thought so.”

  Now she saw that his eyes burned in his calm mask, afire with something that gave her shivers and gleaming hope. “So do you?” she asked.

  Simon lifted a hand and ran his knuckles across her cheek, so gently it made her want to weep.

  “What about James?”

  She tilted her head and smiled ruefully. “I cannot lie and say that he’ll be happy about it. But I think he’ll recover.”

  Slowly, Simon bent his head toward hers, looking into her eyes all the while. Then as he softly touched his lips to hers, she closed her eyes to feel every moment of his tender kiss.

  So soft, so light, a promise of a kiss.

  He drew back and Agatha opened her eyes to see his become dark with emotion.

  “I love you, Simon.”

  Then he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly, her head tucked beneath his chin.

  Simon could scarcely breathe. She loved him. Raw emotion coursed through him. He tipped back her head and devoured her mouth with his. He wanted to claim her, to make her his—body and soul.

  Primitive need took the fore, and he tugged the silken wrapper from her and tossed it across the room. Her delicate chemise followed suit, with his trousers fast behind it.

  She was a dream come true, and he had dreams enough to feed a lifetime of caressing her. The things he wanted to do to her—for her—blazed through his mind in a single heated vision. Touch her here. She gasped in response. Kiss her there. A small cry escaped her lips, urging him on.

  She was naked and she was his. He took possession with his mouth and hands, spurred on by her joyful sounds of pleasure.

  Simon was everywhere. Agatha’s mind spun, strung on a web of his making. His hands were rough and gentle at once, caressing her, pulling sensations from her body that she hadn’t known existed.

  His large roughened hands drove her gently, implacably mad, delving between her thighs, stroking swiftly across her cleft. Then she felt his caresses upon her neck and cheeks, as he held her face still for deep, long, drugging kisses that stole more of her sanity away.

  His body was hard and hot under her own stroking, grasping hands. She was adrift in a burning sea, lost in him. The feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him was all she knew in her surrender.

  Simon was both humbled and transported. “So passionate,” he whispered wonderingly into her skin. “So honest.” When he lowered his mouth to taste her sweet folds, she opened trustingly to his kiss upon her thighs.

  The taste of her in Simon’s mouth was nectar, and the sound of her escalating cries was music. Kissing his way back up her body, he felt as though he lay in the arms of a goddess, and she was as eager as he, reaching for him with emotion shining from her eyes.

  She loved him. Whatever her past, whatever her previous loyalties, she loved him and he drank of her love like a man parched by the desert.

  He pressed her to the floor beneath him, her generous curves glowing like pearl against the jewel tones of the carpet. Willingly she parted her thighs at his urging.

  She was so sweet, so hot and ready for him. He wrapped her in his arms and plunged deeply into her.

  She yelped, a brief cry of surprise.

  He froze, icy disbelief warring with burning need. A virgin? She couldn’t be. He gripped her shoulders tightly, holding her still while he tried to pull himself back from the brink.

  If only she would not move—

  Agatha twisted her body, pushing her hips against him in protest. Simon’s orgasm exploded, and he growled helplessly into her soft neck as his body betrayed him. His shaft jerked within her and she gasped softly with each pulsation.

  Breathless and blinded, Simon could only hold her tightly. It was finally when the fog of release cleared that the reality of what they had done, what he had done, became abruptly obvious.

  Lifting himself upon his elbows, he stroked her tangled hair back from her face. Her soft doe eyes were wide and unsure, all passion erased.

  “Did I hurt you, sweeting?”

  She blinked rapidly for a moment, then spoke. “Not … hurt, but—”

  “But hurt.” He’d been in such a damned hurry to make her his, he hadn’t bothered to test her readiness. Surely he would have discovered her virginity then.

  With a soft kiss to her lips, he gently disengaged from her to rise from the floor. A small washstand supplied a dampened cloth and a moment to think. When he returned to their place before the fire, he gently tended her body.

  After he had tossed the cloth back in the general direction of the washstand, he pulled her discarded wrapper around her. Lifting her in his arms, he sat in the chair by the fire with her in his lap.

  “There is no other lover.”

  It had not been a question, but Agatha answered, “No, of course not. Why ever would you think so?”

  Who the hell was she, then, if not James’s mistress? Why would she be searching—

  Just then there came a distant pounding. Someone was at the door of the house, demanding entry at a very late hour. Concern bit through Simon’s preoccupation.

  His men knew where he was. Could there be a problem at the club? With one of his men?

  Simon set Agatha on her feet and dropped a quick kiss on her brow.

  “We aren’t finished here. I’ll be back directly.”

  He pulled on his breeches and left the room. From the top of the stairs, he could see Pearson answering the door in his dressing gown and slippers.

  The butler had only opened the door slightly and apparently was in the midst of refusing entry to someone. Then he was flung backward when a man burst in from the rain outside.

  A man so thin he looked as though his skin were stretched over nothing but bone. A man so beaten and weak that he could scarcely remain upright once his momentum was halted. “Aggie!” he cried hoarsely.

  Simon hardly recognized his old friend.

  “James!” Agatha’s breathless cry came from behind him.

  Simon watched as Agatha ran past him down the stairs and threw herself into James’s arms. James held her tightly, leaning on her in his weakness. The two of them stood wrapped together in the circle of light from Pearson’s candle, leaving Simon in the darkness just beyond.

  The pain was rather astonishing. And yet what had he thought, that she would stand with him while they gently explained the facts to James?

  And what would he say? “Good to see you, old friend. I stole your woman. And by the way, you’re under arrest for treason. I’m probably going to have to kill you.”

  James held Agatha close for a moment, then set her back to look into her face. His eyes widened when he took in her obvious state, fresh from her lover’s bed.

  “Aggie? What is this?”

  Ah, his cue. Simon strolled down the last few steps.

  “Hello, James.”

  “Simon? What are you doing here?” Then James saw Simon’s matching state, and his sunken eyes grew murderous.

  “You bounder! What have you done to my sister?”

  Sister? Oh, no.

  The vastness of his mistake came home to Simon in a surge of awe at his own stupidity.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  He, Simon Rain, had just ruined the sister of the Griffin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sound
of Jamie’s voice saying Simon’s name cut through Agatha’s joy. She pulled herself from Jamie’s embrace and looked from one man to the other, her smile fading.

  “Jamie? I don’t understand. How do you know Simon?”

  Her brother shot her a horrified glance, then turned roughly to Simon. “You’re covert? With my sister?”

  Jamie took a lurching step forward to swing his fist at Simon, but his legs gave out beneath him. Simon caught him as he sagged.

  Agatha looked to Simon. “What is he talking about? What does that mean, covert?”

  Simon said nothing, but his eyes were dark as they met hers.

  James answered for him, his voice hoarse and shaking with rage. “It means he’s on the job, the blackguard. It means that while he was with you, he was working you.”

  Agatha shook her head. “No, Jamie. I discovered that Simon was a thief days ago. I know you aren’t happy about us, but—”

  “I’m not a thief, Agatha.” Simon reached one hand toward her, then let it fall. “I’m an intelligence agent. I came here to apprehend your brother.”

  Apprehend? Agatha looked at the both of them. “I want to know what is going on. But Jamie is obviously ill. He needs to be in a bed, and a physician must be called.”

  “No!”

  The refusal came from both men simultaneously. Then Jamie shook his head. “No, Aggie, not yet. I think perhaps the two of you had best start explaining this to me. Now.”

  Pearson stepped up, regal as ever in his dressing gown. “Shall I bring you some refreshment, madam? Perhaps something soothing for Mr.—” He indicated Jamie.

  “Yes, Pearson. I think my brother could use some broth and perhaps some bread.”

  “And a blanket,” added James. “And a place to sit.”

  “Yes,” Agatha said stiffly. “We’ll use the parlor.”

  Simon helped James to the sofa, then turned to bring up the fire. James was in terrible condition, and Agatha put aside her own uncertainties to make him comfortable.

  A bleary-eyed Harry came with a pile of blankets, and Agatha wrapped Jamie in the soft wool as he lay propped up on the sofa.

  Pearson returned with tea and steaming broth. Agatha occupied herself for several moments helping Jamie drink the broth with his shaking hands.

  Simon turned from the fire and came to sit on the arm of a chair, watching them both.

  Agatha couldn’t bear to look at Simon. She refused to believe it. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. In a moment, she was sure that Simon would explain that, yes, he had perhaps been looking for James and, yes, he had perhaps not been entirely truthful, but yes, he did love her, just as he’d said he did.

  But he had never actually said it, had he?

  Soon James stopped shivering and pushed the last of the broth away. Agatha had no excuse to avoid speaking to either of them. She stood and pulled her wrapper tightly around her.

  “Simon, why were you looking for Jamie?”

  James spoke up. “I’m not surprised he was, Aggie. After all, I haven’t reported in for weeks.”

  “Reported in?”

  “Simon and I work together, Aggie.”

  She flinched at Simon’s name. He stood within feet of her, but she couldn’t look at him. The sick feeling was growing worse, fighting back her happiness at Jamie’s return.

  James continued. “I was captured by the French one night after I left my … a lady’s home. There were several of them, and I was soon taken down. The next thing I remembered, I woke in the hold of a small ship. They kept me insensible much of the time—”

  “Oh, Jamie,” breathed Agatha. “How horrible.”

  He patted her hand absently, looking worriedly at Simon. “What I’d really like to know is why Simon chose to conceal his search from you.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister, James. A little fact you managed to keep out of your files. I made quite a different assumption when I decided to investigate Agatha.”

  “But why did you investigate me? What do I have to do with anything?” She finally turned to meet Simon’s gaze.

  “You spent the money in his account for this house. I came to see who you were and what you knew.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I suspect James of being a double agent and a traitor.”

  “What??” Agatha and James turned in unison.

  Simon gazed back into matching brown eyes. Dear God, he was blind as well as stupid. How could he not have seen the resemblance?

  “The facts are irrefutable. A leak about the Griffin’s activities went public. James disappeared. A large amount of money was deposited into his bank account at about the same time my men began having their covers compromised. Agatha moved in and began to use that money freely.”

  Agatha frowned. “That was my money, Simon. I took it from the estate account when I left Appleby.”

  Simon shook his head. “It was a great deal of money, Agatha. Far too much to be yours—”

  She only tilted her head and gazed at him. Simon began to get the sneaking suspicion that he was wrong about this as well.

  James broke in urgently. “Simon, you said identities were compromised. What did you mean?” In his eyes Simon could see the depth of James’s fear.

  “Some dead. Some just too badly wounded to work. All told, we lost twelve men off active duty.”

  “I wondered…” James said quietly. “I had such dreams while I was insensible. Endless questioning by a serpent who wouldn’t let me rest. Still, I’d hoped I had let nothing important out.”

  He passed a shaking hand over his eyes. “It was the only thing that kept me sane.”

  Doubt replaced the near certainty in Simon’s mind as he considered his old friend. His voice grim but devoid of anger, Simon said, “Ren Porter even now lies on the edge of death. Only you could have given the French the information that ruined his cover.”

  James flinched as if he had been struck. Guilt twisted his hollowed features. “Oh, God, Simon. Oh, dear God. I wish they’d killed me first,” he whispered.

  His anguish seemed quite real, and his condition certainly reinforced his story.

  James was innocent. Relief swept Simon as he realized that it would not be necessary to take steps against James after all. But now the larger problem loomed. What to do with him?

  Even Simon had to answer to someone. The Royal Four would not be interested in Simon’s instincts. They were going to require concrete proof. “There will be an investigation into your story, James. Until then, you had best keep to house arrest. I’m sorry, but until your innocence is proven, I cannot allow you your freedom.”

  James nodded slowly. “No more than I deserve. ’Tis an improvement over my last prison. I won’t be up and about for a while, in any event.”

  He lay back on the cushions, his eyes tormented, lost in his guilt and regret.

  Simon turned to Agatha. This was not an explanation he was looking forward to giving. Taking her hand, he led her from the parlor.

  She followed to stand before him in the chill entry hall, her arms folded tightly about her thin wrapper. Her eyes were wide and betrayed. She waited for him to speak with the obvious mingled hope and fear of a woman who didn’t know if she wanted to know the truth or not.

  Simon wanted to pull her close and warm her. He did nothing. “I came here to find him. I found you. I thought you were his mistress, and that you knew more than you let on. I even wondered if you were a collaborator yourself.”

  She grew paler as he spoke. “And these past weeks?”

  “Your ruse was … convenient to my own search. I was hoping to uncover something, some document or letter that would point me to James.”

  She moistened her lips. “And tonight?”

  Simon wanted to lie, to tell her that tonight had nothing to do with his case. But the time for lies was over.

  “I decided to find out if I could seduce the truth from you. But then, I—” Simon stopped. Then he what? Then he had changed his m
ind? Then he had wanted her for herself?

  It didn’t matter if he had. She was a gentleman’s sister, a lady, and far above the likes of him.

  And he was a spy, a danger to anyone whom he was fool enough to care for.

  Agatha hadn’t moved an inch, but she was suddenly miles from his reach. She raised her chin and met his gaze with severe composure.

  “I see. You were simply doing your duty.”

  She turned and walked slowly to the front door. “Pearson,” she called, “please assist Mr. Rain with his coat. He is leaving forthwith.”

  Then she opened the door, letting the cold outside air flow over Simon, chilling him deeply.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Rain.”

  She was as cool as winter sleet. Her frozen manner made Simon ache with regret. His own stupid fault. He had tried to steal her warmth for himself, and now it was lost to them both.

  Agatha left the door standing open as Pearson approached with Simon’s coat. With quiet dignity, she turned and reentered the parlor, shutting the door between them.

  * * *

  Simon left the house in Carriage Square, striding down the steps and turning down the walk with automatic precision.

  He wasn’t seeing the late-night street, or the way the lamplight was cast into glowing spheres of fog, or anything at all but the icy look of pain in Agatha’s eyes.

  He was shaken, both by the magnitude of his regret and by the sheer monumental error he had committed over the past weeks.

  He had been wrong about everything. Every bloody conclusion he had reached about Agatha had been entirely in error.

  What kind of spymaster was he, that he could be so deluded by his own assumptions? Blind. Stupid. And deeply, deeply ashamed.

  He had enacted many a sin in his life, but he had never broken anyone’s heart. Until now.

  Turning blindly down another corner, Simon stumbled into a group of carousing young Corinthians. Sidestepping them, he turned and watched them stagger down the walk, jostling one another and casting lewd aspersions on one another’s manhood.

  Shaking his head, Simon looked around him. He’d wandered into a street where he knew there existed several exclusive men’s clubs for the fashionable set.

  Again, not his world. He had no business in this place of shallow amusements, any more than he did in Agatha’s house. His business was to defend the Crown and apprehend anyone who threatened it.