by Zoë Archer
Despite everything, talking with her like this filled him with a slow, radiating pleasure. They’d always had an ease with each other, an ease he hadn’t known with any other woman. He didn’t have to always be a perfect gentleman and could speak his mind without varnish. And she seemed to let herself speak just as openly. He’d missed it with a fierce ache these past days, as she’d been so close, but circumstance and misunderstanding had formed thick walls between them.
“They do,” she agreed. “But I’d seen with Nemesis what change could accomplish, and wanted that for myself. Now I’ve got more liberty than I’ve ever had. I almost don’t know what to do with myself.”
“A little freedom is a heady thing.” He’d learned that himself when he’d left service. “Dangerous, too.”
She shot him a wry look. “A troublemaker I’m not.”
“You were the one to send Nemesis a letter about Prissy.”
“Since then, I’ve been a saint. There’s a girl I share rooms with who works as a clerk in a newspaper office. On our off hours, we go to the theater together. Museums, too, or just walk in the parks. Check Scotland Yard’s records. You won’t find a single mention of me.”
He looked skeptical. “The best deceivers hide their schemes behind a neat, law-abiding disguise.”
“Well … I’ve been thinking of saving up. Starting my own mercer’s shop,” she finally admitted.
He allowed himself a small, victorious smile. “A thinker. A planner. That’s the Ada I know.”
“You claim you know me,” she said. “But here’s the honest truth, Michael: I don’t even know myself anymore.”
Chapter Seven
As Ada and Michael crested the rise, the jagged outline of the ruin rose up against the charcoal sky. They approached, and she could make out the actual structure. A square tower with an empty window joined with a tumbled-down chamber, it seemed the medieval design was supposed to invoke the era of knights and ladies. An absence of roof kept the whole building open to the sky and the elements. Weeds poked through the stones of the walls.
Michael picked at some of the stone, and it disintegrated into dust. “It was a pretend ruin once, but now it’s a real one. And somewhere here, Larkfield’s hidden the valise. We need to search for anything that looks like it’s been disturbed recently. You stand as lookout while I search.”
“I think you’ve been around Simon too long,” she answered. “You’re starting to sound like a former commanding officer.”
He smiled quickly, but didn’t look apologetic. “In our little army, I’ve got seniority.”
Her response was to give him a mocking salute. “I’m only following your instructions because I made the suggestion first, not because you’re the senior officer.”
They broke apart, and Ada acted as sentry while Michael combed over the ruin. She picked up a branch that had broken from a tree, and held it like a club, in case Larkfield should appear.
It was easier to focus on the mission than think about the unresolved tension between her and Michael. And the confusion within herself. She’d always had such defined ideas as to what she wanted and how to get it, but ever since she’d met Michael, her neatly ordered world had broken apart. He wasn’t necessarily the cause, more like what a scientific fellow she’d met at the mercer shop had called the catalyst. Was she a housemaid with aspirations to become a housekeeper? Was she a shopgirl who hoped to open a place of her own, perhaps with a husband as her partner? Or was there something more, a restless need for a thing she couldn’t define? Maybe letting her voice be heard?
And there was Michael himself. She couldn’t figure how to respond to him, or what she wanted from him. Simply opening her heart to him again would lead to more pain when he inevitably disappeared on another mission. Women didn’t have the luxury men did—men could take lovers as much as they liked. But women always bore the consequences, either in the form of a baby or a ruined reputation, or both. Even if none of that mattered, Ada knew herself well enough to understand that she couldn’t take a man to her bed just for physical pleasure. Her heart would get involved, leaving her with emptiness and sorrow when he left.
It would be so much worse with Michael.
She threw a surreptitious glance over her shoulder. He moved with purposeful, sleek motions, tall and lean. Impossible for her to forget the athletic power of his body pressed against hers as he’d climbed down the side of Covington Hall. The thought made her own body respond, heat flooding her, sensation tight along her skin.
As if sensing her looking at him, he stopped and glanced at her with a silent question. Is everything all right?
She waved him on. Still clear.
He turned back and continued in his search, slowly making his way along the interior wall of the ruin.
Her thoughts couldn’t be contained as she looked out at the moonlit grounds.
She’d known many handsome and charming male servants. They were features of every great house. But none of them had sparked her interest as Michael had. Maybe it was because he wasn’t just a servant, but a Nemesis agent. She’d responded immediately to the sharp intelligence in his gaze, his dry wit, his dedication and resolve. And he’d treated her not only with respect, but as an equal. As though her thoughts were just as valuable as his. She was more than a woman to him. She was a person.
Yet they’d never really lost their awareness of each other as a man and a woman. It had grown in slow, aching increments as they’d planned their surveillance, until just the sound of his voice had made her blush. And his bright blue eyes had lingered on her with a hot hunger. Their touches had dallied. A strayed caress here. A brush of fingers there. Until, late one night, they’d found themselves in the shadows beneath the staircase, and the desire that had been building between them burst like a flood-swollen river.
Ada struggled to keep her attention on her task, watching the landscape for movement. But potent memories washed through her in sultry waves. His hands. His mouth. The words he whispered between kisses. Ada, her name like a vow. I’ve burned for you. Need this. Need you.
She’d responded with the same need. Oh, she’d kissed other men before. Impossible to live in a great house with good-looking young men without testing the waters. But all of that had turned to ash the moment her lips touched Michael’s. He’d been commanding and reverent. Knew the secrets of her body—secrets only she’d known. Luckily, a sliver of common sense had hit them both at the same time, just as she was within a hairbreadth of losing her virginity beneath a servants’ staircase.
How many times had she relived that night? How many times had she cursed herself for not giving in to desire and taken what Michael had offered? How often had she thanked God that she’d resisted the siren call of passion?
And now here he was again. Here she was. Still wanting him. But wiser now. More protective of herself. Telling herself that it was safer to keep their relationship strictly professional.
But curse it if that cautioning voice was growing softer the more she was with him.
“Ada.”
Dropping the branch, she hurried over to him. One of the stones lay upon the ground, leaving a hole in the wall. It didn’t look big enough to hold a valise. But as Ada approached, Michael held out his hand to her. Something metallic gleamed on his palm.
“No suitcase,” he murmured. “But I did find this.”
She plucked the small metal object from his hand, holding it up. “A key.”
“To what? A door? A safe?”
Ada peered at it closer. It was a slim key, not very weighty. Familiar, somehow. Then she knew. “For luggage.” She gazed at him. “A valise.”
He cursed softly. “The bag isn’t here. But it’s got to be stored somewhere else, for safekeeping.”
“And the key hidden to keep the contents protected,” she added. Now she swore. “We still don’t know where the valise is, and what’s in it.”
Yet he wasn’t deterred. “It’s not in the Larkfields’ room. An
d neither of them have left the house all day. He likely planted the key last night after the dinner. I’ll leave the key here for now, so he doesn’t get suspicious.”
“Maybe they gave the suitcase to one of the servants,” she offered. “Had them hide it someplace off the estate.”
“They didn’t bring their own valet or maid,” he said. “Mistrust is running high. If they wanted anything done with the valise, they’d do it themselves.”
“If they didn’t leave Covington Hall all day,” she said, “then they must have hidden the valise somewhere in the house.” She shook her head. “The place is enormous, and Larkfield knows it well. He could’ve hidden the bag anywhere.”
Still, he remained undaunted. He’d always been so confident. That hadn’t changed.
“Then,” he said with conviction, “we bloody well find it.”
* * *
They returned to the house in silence. Ada had no idea what Michael was thinking, but she couldn’t stop remembering how he felt beneath her as he climbed, or the way he moved so sleekly and purposefully in the ruin.
Once back outside Covington Hall, they stood at the base of the building, exactly where they’d descended hours before. The wall loomed above them, and far up, the window that was their destination.
Michael turned so his back was to her. “Hop on. Ferry’s returning to the dock.”
Yet she didn’t move. She looked up at the wall and flexed her fingers.
He realized what she intended to do and shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“I watched you on the way down. How you found foot and toeholds. I could feel the way your body moved.” Her face heated at this confession.
“This isn’t a little garden wall. I fell and busted my arse countless times when I was training.”
“Then I’d better not fall,” she answered.
His face darkened. “Ada—”
“I need to try this, Michael.” She fought to find the right words. The idea had been growing within her ever since they’d started back from the ruin, until it filled her with a blazing urgency. “I need to know … what I can do.”
For a long moment, he only stared at her, his brow lowered, his hands on his hips. A debate seemed to rage within him. He took a step in one direction, then the other. A tight, controlled pacing. Finally, he cursed under his breath, and her heart leapt. In fear and excitement.
“I’m going to be right behind you,” he growled. “And if I tell you where to move or how, you do it.”
“Yes,” she answered at once. Her pulse beat thickly.
“Face the wall,” he commanded.
She did as he directed. He stood right behind her.
“Now, find some good handholds, places in the mortar where you can shove your fingers in tight and get a good grip.” When she’d done so, he continued, “Next, find your toeholds. Those’ll be harder to find, because your feet are bigger than your hands. Just get enough of a wedge in with the toe of your boot. Start with one foot, then the other.”
She searched for good places for her feet. It took a few tries, her boots sliding on the wall, but she was determined, and as soon as she got one foot wedged between the bricks, she found another toehold. For a moment, she simply hung there on the wall, only inches from the ground. A small victory, but one she savored.
“Use the strength of your legs and your arms,” he ordered. “Push up with your legs and use that momentum to lift you higher once you find your next handholds.”
Taking a deep breath, she reached up to locate places to put her hands. As soon as she found them, she shoved upward using the power of her legs. Though she’d lost a little of the strength she’d had as a housemaid, working as a shopgirl wasn’t soft or easy labor. All that bending and carrying bolts of heavy cloth had given her unladylike muscles, and she used them now to propel herself up the side of Covington Hall.
Her fingers ached and her body complained from the hard use. Her limbs trembled, and sweat slicked her back. She glanced down and saw that she’d reached ten feet up the wall.
Suddenly, he appeared beside her, holding on to the wall. “Now climb on. I’m not putting you in any more danger.”
“But—”
“You’ve proven what you can do. And it’s bloody amazing. But I’m not putting you in any more danger. Next time,” he added, “we’ll climb a hundred feet. Together.”
She couldn’t argue, not when her body shook with effort, and she’d done what she’d wanted: shown herself what she was capable of. So she did as he directed, and carefully climbed onto his back.
Though her arms and legs ached with weariness on the climb back, she was even more aware of him under her. How their bodies rubbed against each other. All brought into sharp relief by how they’d worked so well together, how right it felt. Her weariness burned away like morning mist, leaving hot need in its place.
Suddenly, the ledge appeared. She stretched out and grasped it. Then hauled herself up off Michael and onto the wide stone ridge. As soon as she was clear, she slid through the open window. She tumbled gracelessly to the floor of the landing, only just managing to break her fall enough to keep from making a racket.
She leaned against the wall, trying to calm herself. Michael climbed through the window with a sight more elegance than she’d demonstrated.
“You should get back to the male servants’ quarters,” she said when he leaned beside her.
“I can’t,” he answered tightly. “Not yet.” When he looked at her, moonlight showed the bright desire in his eyes. He stroked along the line of her jaw, and her breath caught.
Pleasure lit like electrical sparks in her chest. The night had filled her with possibility, with strength.
She took hold of his hand and pulled him behind her—he willingly followed—until she ducked into a linen closet. Shelves and cupboards lined the walls, with a single window overhead to give some light, and there was just enough room to sit on the floor. She pushed him to the ground, and he sat with his back against a cupboard, his legs stretched out in front of him.
As she shut the door behind her, the scent of lavender thick in the air, possibility and reckless daring tumbled through her in bright waves. She felt capable of anything. Expansive with potential. Her body ached—not with tiredness. It wanted, wanted. And it didn’t give a damn about consequences.
She suddenly straddled him. He sucked in a breath, but his face remained expressionless. Only his eyes gleamed from beneath lowered lids. He kept his hands at his sides. One might think he was unmoved by the fact that she sat upon his thighs, their bodies inches apart. Yet the muscles of his legs tensed beneath her, and his chest rose and fell in rough staccato rhythm.
Ada stroked her hands up his arms, feeling their tight strength. She ran her palms over his hard shoulders and learned anew their lean shapes. Through his woolen clothes, his body was warm, solid. As she touched him, he didn’t move, simply watched her with that predator’s gaze.
Threading her fingers into his hair, she lowered her head. Put her mouth to his as her heart pounded. His lips were firm and silken, but as she brushed her own lips against his, he made no move to return the kiss. She traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, urging him to open for her. And while his breath was rough, he still kept his hands at his sides, his lips immobile beneath hers.
She pulled back. A knot of hot anger burned. “You said you wanted all of me.” She started to slide off his lap.
His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. “Still do,” he rumbled. “Said I wouldn’t kiss you until you asked. You haven’t asked.”
Anger quickly gave way to a fiery burst of gratification. “I’m not asking.” She moved back to sit astride him. “I’m telling you. Kiss me.”
“Damn right I will,” he growled, and then he cupped the back of her neck with one broad, callused hand, urging her close.
When their lips met again, it was hot, demanding. They didn’t waste time with prefaces or gentle, shy exp
loration. This was a kiss of long-simmering need. Their mouths were open, and they hungrily fed upon each other, tasting, claiming. He had a warm, spicy flavor she devoured, her tongue slick against his as they almost fought to see who could take more of the other into themselves.
This is what had haunted her all these months. This passion they created that coursed through her in drugging, sparking cascades. More than physical need, it was the want of one self for the other, for all that they were, brought into bold relief by desire. He kissed her as though his next breath demanded it.
She stifled her gasp when his other hand boldly cupped her arse and pulled her snug against him, hips cradling hips. Despite layers of heavy clothing, she still felt the press of his arousal, right against her own aching center. Instinctively, she rocked against him. Sensation pulsed through her. He gripped her hip tighter, urging her close, rising to meet her with a delicious grind.
Her body was alight. The fire surged along her limbs, in the sensitive places of her body. Her breasts were straining and tight against the bodice of her dress, and slickness gathered between her legs.
She almost growled in protest when Michael’s mouth left hers. But then she bit her lip to catch her moan when he dragged his lips along her jaw. He took her earlobe lightly between his teeth, then continued nipping and kissing his way down her throat. She felt the heat as he seemed to breathe her in deep, nuzzling against her hair, drawing in her scent with a primal need.
Her high-necked dress frustrated them both, but he had nimble fingers, and in moments, the buttons lining her bodice loosened. Cool air touched her flesh, replaced almost immediately by his mouth, with more kisses and even a savoring lick of her skin.
She pulled off his cap and clutched his head close, reveling in the sensation, even as her undergarments thwarted his attempts to taste more of her. One of his deft hands found its way beneath the edge of her corset, his fingers sleek and hot on the tops of her breasts.