Love and Let Spy

by Shana Galen

  “Are you asking if I have a mistress?”

  “Shh!” She glanced around, forgetting for the moment she wore her cape. Still, if they continued talking of topics like one’s mistress, curious passersby would surely look more closely. “Need you be so blunt?”

  “I am being blunt?”

  Vexing man. Why must he be so difficult? No wonder he did not have a mistress. “Fine. I will be blunt.”

  “This I have to hear,” he muttered.

  She ignored him. “There must be women who would have you.”

  “Because of my relationship with the marquess?”

  “No, because…” She gestured to him.

  “Pray, madam, do continue.”

  She waved her hand. “Because…look at you.” She felt her face flame. He really could not be such a complete dolt. “Do not play games with me, Mr. Griffyn. Surely you realize you are an attractive male specimen.”

  “An attractive male specimen! Bloody hell. Next you’ll want to dissect me.”

  Her face was red by now. She did not need a mirror to tell her she was blushing. This night was turning into a complete failure. Was she to be completely humiliated? “I am simply saying—”

  “I know what you are saying, and the answer is no.”

  “No?”

  “I will not marry to avoid marriage. In fact, were the situation to reach such dire straits, I find I would vastly prefer you.”

  ***

  Her blue eyes widened, looking like enormous sapphires glittering against the velvet night of the cape. She intrigued him, this woman who was full of contradictions. One moment she was bold and audacious. The next moment she blushed like a schoolgirl. Who was the real Jane Bonde?

  Whoever she was, she did not want anything to do with him. She’d made that, if nothing else, clear enough. Suddenly, he was eager to finish this duty and be done with her. He should have left her back in the cemetery. It wasn’t chivalry that persuaded him to escort her; it was curiosity. What was she doing in that cemetery? Why had she been breathing heavily as though she’d been pursued? He’d heard her breathing before anything else. She was light on her feet, but she couldn’t stop her breath from dragging in and out. Most likely her stays were laced tightly and constricted breathing.

  And the image of her in only her stays was not one he ought to dwell on at the moment.

  So what or whom was she running from? One moment all had been quiet and peaceful. He’d been alone with his thoughts and, if he’d been a praying man, his prayers. The next she had raced past him and dove into the shadows of the old Norman church. For a moment, he’d actually thought he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. He did not know her final destination, but wherever it was, she did not want him to accompany her.

  All the more reason to insist on accompanying her.

  “Miss Bonde, the hour grows late. Shall we continue?” He offered his arm and found he was actually somewhat offended when she did not take it. She muttered something about not needing his assistance and stomped away. Several men parted to allow her to pass, and he had to hurry to catch her. They did indeed pass The Running Footman, but she barely gave the tavern a glance. She finally stopped in front of an unassuming town house. Several lights still burned in the windows, but it did not appear the owner hosted any sort of social event. Did she intend to make a social call this late?

  “This is it,” she said. “You may go now.”

  He might have considered departing, but he certainly wasn’t going to be ordered to do so. Not to mention, he was still curious. Whom was she meeting? What was so important that she needed to rush out, on her own, at night? A lover? A blackmailer? Exactly what was Miss Bonde trying to hide?

  When he didn’t take his leave, she scowled and climbed the steps to the front door. She peered over her shoulder before knocking, seeming resigned to the fact that he was not quite so easy to dismiss. She rapped on the knocker three times and waited. Dominic ascended the steps quietly and stood beside her. He heard faint footsteps, and then the black door opened. A distinguished-looking butler with black hair that had silvered at the temples looked down at her. His face was expressionless granite.

  “Good evening.” His voice betrayed nothing of what he must be thinking; namely, that it was too late for a social call. The butler did not appear to recognize Miss Bonde, and she hesitated, glancing back at Dominic, then frowning in annoyance when she saw he was beside her.

  “Good evening. I am Miss Jane Bonde. I have come to call on Mister…”

  The butler’s brows rose slightly.

  “Lord…”

  The butler’s brows paused in their ascent.

  “Yes, Lord…” She drew the title out, almost as though she waited for the butler to prompt her with the man’s name. Did she not know the man she was calling on? Oh, Dominic was most definitely not leaving now.

  “Lord…Wolf?” she finally asked.

  “You are here to see Lord Wolf?” the butler asked, his voice betraying nothing. “And who is your companion, Miss Bonde?”

  “He’s not my companion,” she said, shooing him with her hand as though he were a fly. “He is leaving.”

  Dominic stepped forward. “Dominic Griffyn.”

  “Also to see Lord…Wolf?” the butler asked.

  “Why not?” Dominic retorted. To his surprise, the butler opened the door and admitted them into a small but well-appointed vestibule. The floor was pale marble and continued up a rather wide staircase. Two richly upholstered armchairs stood on either side of the door, presumably for footmen forced to sit up at night.

  “I am Wallace. I will fetch his lordship.”

  “Thank you, Wallace,” she told him, smiling brightly. As soon as he started up the stairs, she whirled on Dominic. “Go away.”

  He gave her a long look. “I much preferred you when Wallace was present. Do you even know the man you are calling on?”

  “The matter does not concern you!” She circled him and opened the house’s door. “I am safe inside. Good night.”

  “A simple yes or no will suffice,” he continued, ignoring the open door. “Do you know Lord Wolf?”

  “Why must you be so difficult?”

  “Why will you not answer the question?” He heard voices, and she quickly closed the door and rushed back to the spot she’d occupied before Wallace had gone to fetch his master. The butler descended the marble stairs alone.

  “His lordship bids you come to the drawing room. Follow me, please.”

  She gave Dominic a triumphant grin. Dominic had a feeling her victory celebration might be somewhat premature when she realized he’d followed her up the stairs. Wallace opened the white-paneled door of the drawing room, a small but comfortable chamber, and Dominic spotted a heavily pregnant woman and a tall man with light brownish hair and what was obviously a hastily tied cravat, waiting for them.

  Wallace cleared his throat. “Miss Bonde and Mr. Griffyn.” The butler closed the doors, and Griffyn looked at Miss Bonde. She was looking at the woman. Clearly, she hadn’t expected her to be present.

  The pause stretched for a long moment, and the man finally stepped forward. “Miss Bonde, I do not believe we have met.”

  “No.” She pushed the hood of her cape back, revealing her golden hair, which was still almost perfectly coiffed, despite her adventures that evening. “I am sorry to disturb your evening, Lord Wolf.” She nodded. “Lady Wolf.”

  The couple in question did not glance at each other, but Dominic had the feeling, nonetheless, that some sort of communication passed between them.

  “You are friends with Lord Melbourne?” the woman said, rising from a chair upholstered in some sort of rich ivory material. She did so slowly, using her hand on the arm of her chair to assist her. She was obviously in the last stages of her condition and well into her confinement. Dominic recalled his mothe
r at this stage when carrying his younger half brothers. She was chronically tired and unable to find a comfortable position in which to sleep.

  “I am his lordship’s niece.”

  “I see.” The woman nodded. “Won’t you please sit down? I am Lady Smythe, and that is my husband, Viscount Smythe.” It was a very smooth correction, but Dominic did not miss the fact that Miss Bonde had not known the correct names of the people she called on. Had she created a name randomly, or was there some reason behind it?

  “Are you also friends with Lord Melbourne?” Lord Smythe asked.

  “Yes,” Dominic answered.

  “No,” Miss Bonde countered. This time the Smythes did exchange a look.

  Dominic feigned injury. “This is news. I shall have his name struck from the engagement-party guest list.”

  She glared at him. “There is to be no engagement party.”

  “Another shock,” Dominic said. “I don’t think my nerves can take many more.”

  Miss Bonde looked on the verge of attack, but Lady Smythe, who had resumed her seat, began to rise again. “Do you need a moment alone?”

  “No,” Dominic said at the same time Miss Bonde answered, “Yes.”

  “Really!” she huffed then smiled apologetically at the Smythes. “Please do not stand on our account. We shall step outside for a moment.”

  “Very good,” Lady Smythe said. “Shall I ring for tea?”

  “Yes,” Dominic said.

  “No,” Miss Bonde argued.

  Lady Smythe sighed. “I had a feeling that might be your answer.”

  Dominic had to walk quickly in order to reach the door of the drawing room and open it for Miss Bonde. Whatever anyone else said, his mother had raised him to observe some conventions. He needn’t have bothered, as the butler opened the door before Dominic could touch the handle. He then closed it and moved away. Miss Bonde waited until Wallace was out of sight before hissing, “As you can see, I am perfectly fine. You may return to”—she waved her arm vaguely—“whatever it was you were doing.”

  “That would be rude. The Smythes are serving tea.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. He rather liked her when she was angry. She looked less perfect and more human. “The tea is not for you. You do not even know them.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “They are friends of my uncle.”

  “As am I.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. “Mr. Griffyn, there is a private matter I wish to discuss with the viscount. If you would be so kind—”

  He grabbed her wrist and unfolded her fingers. “No, I am not kind. No one has ever accused me of that vice, and I won’t begin now.”

  “Let go of my hand.”

  “You’ll only clench it again. You, Miss Bonde, are hiding something.”

  “So says the man who was lurking in a church cemetery.”

  He allowed that to pass without a reference to glass houses and stones, which he thought showed a rather formidable amount of forbearance. “You intrigue me, Miss Bonde. Much more so tonight than when we first met.”

  She gave a disbelieving snort. “And so you accost every woman who does not intrigue you?”

  “Are you referring to the incident in the hedgerows?” he asked.

  “You know I am.”

  “In that case, need I remind you that you kissed me?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “You quite lost yourself in my arms.”

  “I most certainly did not!” Her eyes, so darkly blue they were almost violet, flashed with anger.

  “Must I show you again?” He tugged on the hand he still held, pulling her closer. Damn. He was going to kiss her again. All of this kissing would wreak havoc on his reputation as a heartless seducer.

  “You wouldn’t.” She was flush against him now. “Do not dare!”

  That sealed her fate. He pressed his mouth to hers, merely intending to give her a taste of what they’d shared the other night. And perhaps he intended to remind himself as well. He hadn’t quite forgotten the first taste of her. He did not think he ever would. She’d pressed her lips firmly together, and he brushed his own against them until he felt hers soften. She exhaled, a tiny puff of air that feathered against his lips. He clenched her hand more tightly and wrapped his other arm around her back, holding her in place. Holding her against him. He could feel her body trembling now as he used his tongue to tease her lips open.

  He could have explored her lips for hours, perhaps days. She had perfect lips—moist, plump, and warm. He licked her lower lip then took the ripe flesh gently between his teeth. One of her hands came up to grasp his coat. He thought she might push him away, but instead she moved the wool coat aside and spread her hands on his chest, only the thin, finely made linen separating their flesh. He moved quickly, clenching her hand and removing it from his body. He held it trapped at her side. If this were to continue, he would have to explain the rules to her.

  He slanted his mouth over hers. He was in no hurry and took her slowly, completely. His hands sank into the softness of her flesh as their bodies came together. But he wanted more of her. Using gentle pressure, he opened her lips to his. He eased his tongue inside, tasting her, reveling in the heat of her. A frisson of white-hot arousal shot through him when his tongue rubbed against hers. She must have felt it as well, because she gasped, and her body went rigid in his arms.

  And then she wasn’t rigid. Then she was soft and pliable, her warm body melting into his. Her breathing matched his breathing, and he trembled when she did. For a long moment, he didn’t think he could release her. Ever. For three beats of their hearts, he was afraid he would never be able to walk away from this woman again.

  His head swam; his vision dimmed as blackness swirled. Dominic had to make a conscious effort to open his fingers from her wrist and release her. Even more difficult was the act of separating their lips. As soon as he’d pulled away, he had the overwhelming urge to pull her to him again.

  “No!” He stumbled back, putting several feet between them, and still had to clutch the wall for support and to resist taking her in his arms again.

  She blinked at him, looking like a woman who had just stepped from a dark room into the sunlight.

  “What the devil just happened?” he asked, more to himself than to her. She looked as surprised as he did. He stared at her. Had she bewitched him? How else could he explain how he felt? How desperately he wanted her? How close he had come to wanting to break more of his own rules?

  She put her hands to her pink cheeks. “I think you had better go,” she said, her voice low and sultry. Hearing her speak, he wanted to do anything but walk away from her. And that was precisely why he had to walk away.

  “I think you are correct.” He glanced about, surprised to note they were standing outside a drawing room. He had not known where he was for a long moment there. He was with Miss Bonde—no, not Miss Bonde. He was with Her. “Where is my hat?” he asked, looking about.

  The door to the drawing room opened, and the butler emerged, holding his beaver hat. “Here you are, sir. If you will follow me, I will show you out.”

  Dominic opened his mouth, then frowned. “How…” It did not matter. He took the hat, placed it on his head, nodded to Her, and started down the stairs without looking back.

  Once outside the town house, once on the street, he did not think of her. Rather, he did not allow himself to think of her. When he was not in her presence, the effect she had on him diminished. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had come over him when he’d kissed her. He did not want to spend another moment considering what was between them. She was dangerous. That much was clear to him. He would do well to avoid her.

  Easier said than done, of course, considering they were to be engaged and then married.

  He’d think about that tomorrow.

&nbs
p; Without planning to, he’d made his way to Edgeberry’s London residence. It sat behind a large wall and iron gates. A footman stood just inside and recognized Dominic as soon as he stepped into the light cast from the lamps on the columns flanking the gates.

  “Mr. Griffyn, sir. Just one moment.” He heard the clink of a key, and then the gates swung open. Dominic tipped his hat at the footman and made his way up the short walk to the house. Edgeberry’s butler opened the door, looking weary and frazzled.

  Dominic paused. “Has his lordship returned from the country, Danbury?”

  “No, sir,” Danbury said. “But Lord Phineas is here.”

  Dominic almost groaned aloud. Phineas was his mother’s third son, Edgeberry’s second. Phineas was not the heir to the marquessate, but the spare. He had all of the privileges of his father’s position and none of the responsibilities of his elder brother’s future. If there was a vice, Phineas subscribed to it. His main vices were as cliché as his rakish ways—wine and women. As if on cue, Phineas—or one of his reprobate friends—guffawed loudly.

  “Perhaps he will retire soon,” Dominic said to the beleaguered butler. Danbury was a relatively new addition to the Edgeberry staff. He did not feel as though he had enough authority to impose much order on the young gentlemen of the household. When Edgeberry was present, it was not necessary. But tonight, Edgeberry and Dominic’s mother were away.

  “Yes, sir.” Danbury nodded but did not look hopeful. Dominic was not hopeful either. The best the butler could hope for was that Phineas would be rendered unconscious from overimbibing, sooner rather than later.

  For his part, Dominic intended to steer clear of the party and seek the solace of the room he occupied when in Town. He climbed the stairs, glad the drawing-room doors were only partly ajar. The men inside were so raucous they could not have heard him pass. He reached the landing of the second floor and frowned. It was dark, and Dominic had not thought to bring a candle or lamp. The lamps had either sputtered out, or the servants had forgotten to light them. Dominic took a deep breath. It was not so very dark. Light shone at the bottom of the stairs. He stepped forward, the floorboard creaking as he moved. His room was at the end of the corridor. The distance was not great when the lights blazed, but it seemed the other side of the world at the moment.