While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0)

by Shana Galen

  Ethan stepped into the hospital, Selbourne taking his place in the doorway. “Francesca,” he repeated. His voice was soft, concerned. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head impatiently. Why was he just standing there? Didn’t he see that Lino was injured? That she had to save him?

  “I’m fine.” She waved away his concern and turned back to the puppy. “Tell me what happened to Lino.”

  Lino was on his side, his breath coming quickly. Her hands were buried in his fur, feeling for broken bones, swellings. Ethan didn’t answer right away, and she glanced up at him expectantly.

  He was frowning at her. “Francesca, I don’t care about the damn dog.” He moved toward her. “What about you?”

  She took a step back, and he paused, face full of concern and worry. She didn’t have time for that now. Lino was all that mattered.

  “Ethan.” Her voice held a note of pleading. She was near tears. “Please. I have to save him. I have to save him.” The world went dizzy then, and she crumpled to her knees beside the table. Hysterical sobs wracked her body, and she gave into them, crying with the abandon of an infant.

  She was vaguely aware that Ethan went to the door, spoke softly to his brother, then closed it after him. A moment later, he sat beside her and gathered her in his arms.

  She cried more tears then she knew she had, Ethan stroking her hair and whispering unintelligible words of comfort to her. When they finally subsided, she looked into his eyes and he kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

  She saw a flicker of movement behind him and craned her neck to see Lino trotting over to the bunny’s crate.

  She sighed with relief. “Lino will be all right. Except the blood—” She tensed, but Ethan’s touch soothed her again.

  “It’s not his. We went after the attacker. The dog too.” He stroked her hair. “But he made it into the woods before we could catch up. The dog went after him, barking like mad, but when we found the pup, the bastard was gone.”

  Brave little Lino, Francesca thought.

  Ethan grinned. “But the dog had a scrap of material in his teeth. I think it was part of a hood, so the blood on his muzzle must be your attacker’s.” Francesca nodded, shakily took a breath. His hold on her tightened. “Now, tell me what just happened.”

  She shuddered. “I’m all right now. It was just the attack and—”

  “It was more than that, Francesca.” He leaned back, looked into her face. She clasped her hands. “You were in a frenzy. I couldn’t even—”

  “Lino,” she interrupted. “I had to save him. I had to make sure he wasn’t hurt. That no one can ever hurt him. I’m fine now. Everything is fine.”

  “The devil it is,” Ethan said, and she tensed. “Nothing is fine, but I understand now.”

  She frowned up at him.

  “You save these animals”—he gestured toward Lino, now curled up in the corner of the hospital near the bunny—“and save yourself.”

  His words were arrows, hitting far too close to their target.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered. “They needed help. I did what anyone else would.”

  Ethan’s penetrating gaze was on her, and she squirmed under his seeming omniscience. He cupped her cheek with his hand.

  She forced herself to stand her ground.

  “Tell me what happened to you, cara. Who are you saving yourself from? Protecting yourself from?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t think of it now, the implications behind his words. If she tried to think of it, she’d go mad. Her mind was already too full. If she allowed another thought to enter, it would break.

  “No one.”

  His stare was too intense, too perceptive, and she had to look away. She concentrated on the bunny’s cage. His hand on her cheek brushed at a tear she hadn’t been able to quell.

  “It’s Roxbury again, isn’t it? Did he hurt you when you were betrothed?”

  “No!” She bit her lip, realizing she’d answered too quickly, sounded defensive. “I mean—”

  Ethan’s other hand caressed her arm, and she chanced a quick glance at him.

  “Don’t lie to me, cara.” His eyes were understanding, but his voice was hard. “Trust me,” he murmured.

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment—the longest of her life.

  Trust him. She wanted to, and yet she was afraid. She felt a stab in her heart even imagining contempt in his amber gaze.

  He squeezed her hand. It was a simple gesture, that of a friend, a confidant. She closed her eyes. She needed to tell him. After the attack she needed, more than ever before, to feel safe and protected. The secret of Roxbury’s abuse was a cold knot inside her, but maybe if she told Ethan, confided in him, the sharing would melt it just a little.

  “He hit me.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She felt his hand tighten on her but kept her eyes closed. “Not at first,” she managed to say a little louder. It was important for Ethan to understand that. Roxbury hadn’t always been violent. “He changed. H-he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

  She pulled away from Ethan’s hands, looked down at the floor they sat on. “But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the insults. The way he made me feel.” She squeezed her eyelids tightly, squeezing back tears. “Like I was nothing.”

  “Cara.”

  She heard the pain in Ethan’s voice and opened her eyes to look at him. She was prepared for scorn but not for the anguish she saw.

  “Come here.” He drew her into his arms again, cradled her head against his chest.

  She was too surprised at his reaction to resist. And then his tenderness overwhelmed her, and she began to sob. Embarrassed, she tried to move away from him, but he pulled her tighter.

  “Come here,” he said again.

  “Why?” she hiccupped. “I’m crying tears all over your coat.”

  She heard him chuckle low in his chest. “Devil take the coat.” His hand caressed her hair, lingered at the nape of her neck. “And I need to hold you.” His fingers slid down her skin. “To know that you’re safe.”

  Francesca sighed and gave herself over to the sanctuary of his embrace. He pulled her into his lap, pressing her securely against him. The feel of his body against hers, his arms around her, the smell of sandalwood and the scent that was uniquely him overwhelmed her, soothed her, comforted her.

  “Cara,” she heard him whisper.

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to melt into him, gasped as he swept her up. Cradling her in his arms, he carried her to the chair near the cold fireplace.

  He sat and settled her in his lap, pressing her face to his chest, rubbing his hands down her back and arms in the same way she had when checking Lino for injuries a moment before. He was making sure she wasn’t harmed, that she was whole. For that alone, she loved him.

  She put her hands on his chest, wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his tailcoat, and buried herself in the safe, solid feel of him. Safe. How long since she’d felt safe and protected? Too long. Not since she’d last been in his arms.

  But tonight even his embrace could only wipe away the horror of her attack for a short while. She began to shiver, her teeth chattering, though she gritted them together in a feeble attempt to stop it.

  “Are you cold?” He sat forward. “I’ll start a fire.”

  “No.” She felt a sense of panic at the idea of him rising, relinquishing his embrace for even a moment. “It’s not that. Don’t let me go yet.”

  She heard the beseeching tone in her voice and hated it, but Ethan didn’t seem the least repulsed by her weakness. He pulled her closer. Her hair had come free of its pins during the attack, and she felt his hands in it now, knew he was feeling its weight, its softness. She felt him brush his lips against it, and closed her eyes. She’d never felt so loved, so cherished as when he touched her.

  Her Atlas, shouldering the weight of the world. Willingly taking on her problems along with his. Willingly subjecting himself to the
absurdness of her mother, the brusqueness of her father, the idle chatter of her little sister, when he should probably be in London or France seeing to the protection of the country. Fighting for her when she was attacked.

  That had to mean something, didn’t it? Mightn’t he care for her just a little? Or was she just a fool, wishing for something that would never be?

  “When I saw you tonight,” he murmured into her hair, “I thought you must be an enchantress who’d cast a spell over me.”

  She looked up at him, surprised not only at his words but the tone in which he said them. There was something raw in his voice. Something she’d never heard before.

  “I looked at you tonight, and I realized I’ve been a fool this last week.” He shook his head as if he could hardly believe his own idiocy. “Whatever you want, cara, it’s yours. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You don’t?” She wasn’t awake. She had to be dreaming this.

  He grinned, touched a finger to her open mouth. “No, I don’t. And I’ll agree to any ultimatum you issue. You’re worth it.” His warm, amber gaze flowed over her, making her insides tingle.

  “Am I?” she whispered.

  “Most definitely.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, very slowly and very gently.

  When he pulled away, she stared at him. The detached, wary look was gone, and there was a hint of trust in his eyes when he looked at her. Perhaps she was imagining it. After all, this was the man who, rumor had it, trusted no woman since the betrayal. But here she was, in his arms, and he was filling her with joy. And desire.

  She knew he felt it too. Even as she watched him, the gold flecks in his eyes sparked and began to burn. He lowered his lashes, glancing down at her mouth, and she found herself eager for him to kiss her again. He would do it gently at first, then with more passion. She shivered.

  “You’re cold.” He stood abruptly, depositing her on the chair in one fluid motion. “I’ll start a fire.”

  Twenty-six

  She let out a huff of indignation and stared at him in confusion. She’d been certain he would kiss her again. And, Lord, how she’d wanted him to. She felt her cheeks heat and was glad his back was to her as he went about the task of stacking the wood and lighting the fire.

  His roguish ways must have rubbed off on her because all she could think of was him scooping her into his arms again and kissing her until there was nothing but the feel of his mouth on hers.

  She should suggest they return inside. They must have been missed at the ball, but she didn’t care. Selbourne would speak with her parents and make sure all the other guests were safe. She was content to let him. All she cared about at that moment was that she was here with Ethan. He finished with the fire, building it up enough so it filled the hospital with a warm glow.

  “Better?” he asked, turning to her.

  She nodded. With his back to the fire, he was sinfully handsome. His dark hair burnished with copper in the radiance of the firelight, and though the sculpted angles of his jaw and cheekbones were as harsh as ever, she saw how the sensuous line of his lips and the flecks of gold in his otherwise intense eyes softened the effect. He appeared at once stern and sybaritic, severe and sultry. A lethal combination.

  But she was shaken out of her admiration when his face took on that serious expression with which she was becoming increasingly familiar. He crossed his arms, and she braced herself.

  “Tell me what happened tonight.”

  Had she really thought he would leave it alone? She needed his touch, his arms around her, not his questions.

  “Francesca?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to staunch the fear in her belly.

  “It was stupid, I know, but I accompanied the Duchess of Devonshire onto the terrace. She went inside, but the night was so peaceful, and I—I just needed a moment.”

  She saw the muscle in his jaw tick but otherwise he gave no indication of anger.

  “I didn’t go far from the house! I didn’t think—”

  “We’ll discuss your lapse in judgment later.” He frowned at her. “At length. Right now I want details. Where were you attacked?” He leaned forward, his look piercing. “How did you come to be in the tack room?”

  She curled her fingers around the arms of the chair. The wood was worn and smooth underneath her tight grip. The feeling of safety she’d been basking in clouded over.

  “He—” She felt the tremble of fear waiting to erupt once again, just beneath the surface of her self-control. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to still the shaking in her hands and legs.

  Ethan knelt down beside her and lightly rubbed her scratched upper arms. Still, she winced with pain.

  “Did he speak to you?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the images flooding her brain.

  “What did he say?”

  “That I deserved what he was going to do to me.”

  “What else?” His voice seemed so far away.

  “There was something familiar about his voice,” she managed.

  His hands on her arms tightened. “Tell me.”

  She opened her eyes then looked away, but not before she saw the flash of comprehension in his eyes.

  “You know him.”

  It was a statement, and she acknowledged it with a nod.

  “Who?”

  His voice was harsh and low, and she glanced at him quickly, a little afraid at his murderous tone.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But he—” She gripped the chair tighter; her stomach rolled. Ethan’s hold on her arms softened, but even with that small comfort she had to look down as she said it.

  “He called me Cesca.”

  She heard his quick intake of breath and looked up to gauge his reaction. It was unreadable.

  “Only friends and family call me that.” Her voice shook, but Ethan’s firm control, his steady gaze kept her calm.

  “That narrows the list of suspects considerably.”

  She frowned, trying to make herself believe what he implied, what she knew as well.

  “I refuse to believe it’s someone I know,” she said. “I cannot believe that. The man...h-he taunted me. Maybe the name was one more way to hurt me.”

  Ethan’s hands on her arms tightened, and she glanced down at them. He released her, grasping the arms of the chair beside her own hands. “He hurt you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly.

  “Did he—” His voice faltered, and she felt the chair shudder from the power of his grip. “Did he—violate you?”

  She felt her cheeks explode into flame and quickly looked away. “No,” she whispered. “You were just in time.”

  He let out a long, slow breath, and she felt some of his tension ease. “Thank God.”

  She couldn’t agree more, but the memory of the man’s hands on her, the way he’d shoved her legs open, the names he’d called her was too much. Her teeth began to chatter, and she pushed out of the chair, past Ethan, to stand before the fire in an effort to warm herself. She was suddenly cold. Unbearably cold.

  The fire did nothing to thaw the ice coursing through her, and she thought that as long as she had the memory of the man’s hands on her she might never again be warm.

  Ethan came up behind her.

  “I can’t—” she began. “I can’t talk a-a-about tonight right now.” She heard the hitch in her voice and knew she was close to tears once again. She took a firm breath and shoved them away.

  “Shh,” he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. “No more questions for now.”

  His touch was warm and soothing as he began to knead her tired muscles. She hadn’t realized how tense and exhausted she was, and his touch felt so good.

  When his thumbs pressed into her shoulder blades, she almost moaned. His practiced hands on her aching muscles felt wonderful. She closed her eyes and rolled her head forward, stretching out the soreness.

 
; Ethan’s hands slid across her back and along her arms, pushing her gloves down as he did. It was a comforting gesture, and she told herself, as she pulled off the sticky gloves, dropping them on the floor, that she would stop him in a moment. But his hands slid back up to her shoulders, and still she didn’t speak. He would think she had no shame.

  Then she felt his fingers on her shoulders, their touch light and careful of the delicate muscles there. He massaged away even the small aches she hadn’t known existed, sending warmth as hot as the crackling fire before her through her body. And before she knew it, his hands were in her hair again, pulling out the last of the pins that stubbornly clung to it and running his fingers through the heavy mass that fell almost to her waist.

  Thumbs at her temples, his nimble fingers soothed away her strain and replaced it with tingles of warmth. Francesca sighed, rolled her head.

  His hands wrapped around her long curls and swept them over her shoulder. Out of his way. His lips were on the curve of her neck, behind her ear, and she couldn’t stop a shiver as a thousand tiny vibrations coursed through her body. She resonated with warmth from his mouth, his touch.

  He traced the line of her jaw with kisses light as the sweep of a butterfly’s wing, and she gripped the sides of her gown to stop herself from leaning into him.

  It was a lost cause. When his lips moved to her earlobe, she pushed back against him, needing the support. Almost as if they had a mind of their own, her arms came up and wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer. He was so tall she was on tiptoes, straining against him.

  She heard his intake of breath, and the slow way he let it out again, and knew he was having trouble controlling his response to her. The idea amazed her. The fact that he would want her that much. That he would need to exercise any control.

  She felt no fear. With Ethan she had always felt protected. Safe. His tongue lightly traced the curve of her ear.

  “Turn around, cara,” he whispered. His words seared her sensitive skin. He didn’t stop his gentle assault, but she felt him tense in the brief gap as she considered.