He was no doubt a bounder, a rake, perhaps, accosting ladies as they viewed scantily clad statues of beautiful men. But there was something about him that suggested he was a bit lost. Lonely. His manner of speech suggested he was a gentleman. He was certainly dressed as a man of leisure, and yet …
She whirled around, realizing he had followed her. He was once again directly in front of her, closer than was proper, close enough that their foreheads would touch should either one of them lean forward very much. The scent of his cologne wafted over her even as his eyes closed. She watched as he inhaled deeply.
“Your perfume is positively intoxicating,” he whispered before slowly reopening his eyes.
Once again, Lydia had no idea how to respond to such a comment. No one had ever put voice to such a claim before—at least, not quite like this. The chemist who had created the perfume for her at Floris merely said it was appropriate for a widow of means. Orange blossom combined with a hint of spice, he said, never divulging what spice he had added to make the subtle fragrance. At least, she had thought it subtle. Adonis’ claim that it was intoxicating had her wondering if she was giving off more spice than she intended.
Lifting her eyes to meet his, Lydia was startled by how he stared at her. “I really don’t think it appropriate for you to say such a thing,” she stammered, wondering if she should give the chemist a tip when she next paid a visit to Floris.
“Why ever not?” he countered, a look of hurt crossing his face. “I thought honesty was always best …” He suddenly rolled his eyes before allowing a sigh. “You are right, of course. I forget sometimes.” His eyes darted to the side and then refocused on her, as if he were trying to decide what to say next.
Lydia blinked again, wondering if perhaps the man was a simpleton. He spoke well, and yet his conversation was wholly inappropriate. A quick look around assured her no one was watching them, at least. His next words had her on edge, though.
“Perhaps you will join me for a chocolate? I should like us to become acquainted. I should like …”
“We’ve not been properly introduced,” she reminded him before turning away, managing a slight curtsy as she did so. She hurried off to another statue. At least this one was of a woman, although she nearly rolled her eyes when she realized it was of Venus. Lely’s Venus, she remembered as she sighed.
Aphrodite.
The naked goddess was depicted crouching, her head turned sharply to her right, which is exactly what Lydia was forced to do when Adonis was suddenly standing to her right. She was stunned to find him gazing first at the statue and then at her, as if he were comparing them.
“You’re far prettier than she is,” he stated suddenly. “Although her hair is quite beautiful.”
Lydia turned her attention back to the statue, studying the elaborate top knot and curls the statue displayed. Noting the woman’s face, Lydia allowed an audible sigh. “Given the fact that her nose is missing, it’s no wonder you might think that,” she whispered, leaning away from the strange gentleman as she made the comment.
She couldn’t help the thrill she felt at hearing his declaration, though. Her own hair was dressed rather fine, although her black silk hat covered most of the curls her lady’s maid had ironed into them that morning.
“Still, her lips are nothing like yours.”
Stiffening until she reached her full five-foot, five-inch height, Lydia inhaled sharply and faced the bounder. Her attention immediately went to the scar on his otherwise perfect face. “And yours are about to be bloodied since I have decided it’s time to hurl my reticule in your direction. And that scar on your cheek? Put there, no doubt, by the blade of a jealous husband, was it not?”
The look of surprise and then hurt that appeared on the man’s face had Lydia immediately regretting her words. He stepped back so suddenly, he nearly tripped, although he was quick to use his cane to steady himself. Giving her a slight bow, he managed to say, “Good day, my lady,” before hurrying away.
“I apologize,” Lydia hurried to get out before he was out of earshot, sighing when the man paused only a half-step before he continued, a noticeable limp in his gait as he made his way toward the museum’s exit.
That was truly awful of me, she thought as she slowly turned her attention back to the statue.
Her eyes suddenly widened when she remembered how vengeful Aphrodite could be when the goddess of love thought her wishes had been ignored or otherwise thwarted. “I feel awful about what just happened,” she said in a hoarse whisper, her words directed to the statue. “But that man and me? We haven’t been properly introduced,” she murmured again, hoping the goddess would have mercy on her.
Mercy?
Or did she want a second chance?
The way the man gazed at her, as if he were memorizing every detail of her face, had another thrill shooting through her body. Did he know she had been doing the same thing with him?
Lydia headed to the upper floors, deciding it would be safer to spend her day with the minerals and seashells.
Chapter Three
A Protector Arrives
Later that day
The invitation to Lady Morganfield’s annual garden party arrived while Lydia was at the museum; the beautifully penned missive written on a bright, white stationery bearing the Morganfield marquessate’s crest at the top. Lydia’s butler handed it to her as she stepped into her townhouse’s vestibule, explaining that a footman had delivered it with the instructions that it be read as soon as possible.
The tulips are finally in bloom, rather later than usual, which accounts for this notice of some urgency, the feminine script explained at the bottom of the invitation. Indeed, the invitation was for the afternoon next and bore no request for regrets.
Obviously, the marchioness wanted to take advantage of the sudden good weather to host her party. Another few days, and the party would probably have to be moved indoors due to a rain shower. Or snow. Goodness! If the weather didn’t improve—and for a long period of time—then there would be no flowers!
Of course, Lydia would go to the party. Adeline Carlington’s garden parties were always fashionable affairs that offered as much enjoyment as they did an opportunity to donate funds to the marchioness’ favorite charity. Lady E’s ‘Finding Work for the Wounded’ was her current favorite, although given it was run by Lady Morganfield’s daughter, Lady Bostwick, one couldn’t be too surprised at the choice. Besides, unlike most of the charities the ladies of the ton started in their own names, this one actually seemed to do some good by finding employment for wounded soldiers. Old fogeys, they called them. Soldiers who had returned from the Continent with any manner of impairment, but most able to perform some sort of employment if only someone gave them a chance.
Or bribed an employer to hire them, which is what Lydia thought Lady Bostwick might be doing in order to place some of the wounded soldiers that passed through her charity’s doors in Oxford Street.
Well, as long as there were funds to make the bribes and pay a tailor to sew a suit of clothes for each candidate, the charity would continue to exist. Garden parties such as Lady Morganfield’s were merely a way of raising some of those funds.
Tulips, Lydia thought as she reread the invitation. She angled her head and wondered if any had appeared in the small garden behind her townhouse. Jenkins, her butler, was about to help her out of her pelisse when she waved him off. “I’m just going to check the back garden,” she murmured as she made her way out of the vestibule and into the hall.
“The locksmith hasn’t yet paid a call,” Jenkins countered.
Lydia slowed her steps and then stopped to regard the butler. “The locksmith?”
Jenkins nodded. “The kitchen maid says she had trouble locking the back door when she came in from picking herbs, my lady,” he explained.
Waving a hand, Lydia replied, “I shouldn’t think there would be any need to worry. Who would attempt to come into the house without first knocking?” she asked, her head sha
king with her words.
A thief. A murderer. A rapist. All the possibles were given their due in her thoughts, but it was far better her servants didn’t know she was all too aware of just who might come into a house without knocking.
In her former business, she knew all manner of reasons for broken locks.
Lydia continued on her way, stepping through the troublesome door to find that, yes, indeed, a few tulips were blooming. She made her way on the flagstones that meandered through the modest garden, stopping occasionally to admire a rare bloom or to pick one for a bouquet for the hall table. Studying the flags, she frowned when she noticed footprints made by a boot much larger than her own half-boots.
The gardener, she surmised, continuing her survey of the plants. A quick glance at the bit of lawn proved it had been recently trimmed, and the remains of any dead plants from the year prior had been completely removed.
By the time she had walked the entire path, she had barely gathered enough flowers to make a small arrangement for the hall table. This one rare, clear day among a month of cooler temperatures and incessant rain had her wondering if there would be any more spring flowers. I might have to install a greenhouse, she thought, her brows furrowing when she glanced at the meager plantings just behind the house. Although the small kitchen garden to the west held the most greenery, probably because it was close to the house and safe from the near-freezing nighttime temperatures, it wouldn’t last the summer if the weather continued as it did.
The sound of a horse had her listening for the accompanying answer from another. When it came, she allowed a grin but didn’t bother to look toward the mews at the end of the alley.
On her way back into the house, she turned on the top step to survey the entire back yard. Rather small compared to those behind the mansions in Park Lane, this one featured a winding path leading to a gate that opened to the alley. The red and pink clouds to the west portended another brilliant sunset. With any luck, the good weather would hold for another day to accommodate Lady Morganfield’s garden party.
With one final glance, Lydia turned and made her way back into the house. Given her arms were filled with flowers, she shut the door behind her with a shove of an elbow, not bothering to ensure the door latched properly.
From where he stood in the alley, barely hidden at the end of the back fence, Adonis Truscott watched Lady Barrymore make her way into her townhouse. He gave a sigh of relief for two reasons. She had made it home safely from the museum despite not having had a companion or a footman to accompany her, and because she hadn’t paid witness to his sudden presence in the alley.
Adonis certainly hadn’t expected her to appear in her back garden when she did. His only reason for taking the alley route when he followed her from the museum was to track the carriage in which she rode without having to ride directly behind it.
And then his mount had gone and made a sound of protest.
He was sure she heard the neigh, for he watched as her back stiffened and her head jerked a bit to the right, as if she were listening intently. For just the moment, he was sure he would be discovered, and he rather doubted Lydia would be pleased to learn he had followed her. She would probably be furious given her reaction to him at the museum.
I did make a fool of myself, he thought with a frown. But then, he hadn’t known what to say, exactly. Hadn’t known how to approach her other than attempt to make conversation. It had been so long since he had put voice to words—other than to his batman and his bothersome sister—he wasn’t exactly sure what to say to her when he was finally in her presence.
This used to be so much easier, he thought as he continued to stare at the back of her house. Settle in for a long night, the tools of the trade close at hand—opera glasses, pencil and parchment, a flask of scotch and a pasty. Now he couldn’t imagine having to spend a night doing reconnaissance. Spying. Not since that last night on the battlefield. The night that seemed as if it would never end.
He shook his head as if to clear it, determined not to allow his memories to get the better of him just then.
Think of her, he nearly whispered out loud. She was a far better subject on which to spend a moment of thought than something that had happened near Brussels a year ago. Indeed, Lydia Barrymore was far more beautiful than his commander had intimated with his final words. Far more feisty. Far more …
More.
Adonis swallowed.
Lady Lydia Barrymore wasn’t at all as she had been described. In fact, Adonis had spent the past month ensuring he had the right woman. He had only been back on British shores a month more than that, unable to return at the same time as the other two men who remained of his small unit of operatives assigned to an infantry unit.
His prolonged stay in a hospital in Brussels had prevented an earlier return.
Adonis shook his head, knowing he couldn’t allow his thoughts to dwell on his recent past. Doing so only meant losing hours of time. Hours of awareness. Hours of life. Then there would be that sickening moment when he suddenly regained his wits. Even thinking of it made him shake his head from side to side, as if to ward off the haunting spirits of his past.
Leading his horse the rest of the way down the alley, he finally struggled to mount the Cleveland Bay. Trusting the horse to get him to his bachelor quarters in Green Street, Adonis considered what he must do next.
Chapter Four
Pillow Talk
Later that night at Fitzsimmons Manor
“Christ, it’s colder than a witch’s tit,” Matthew Fitzsimmons, Viscount Chamberlain, complained as he allowed his valet to undo the fastenings of his waistcoat. His own fingers were nearly numb from his quick trip to meet the Earl of Torrington at White’s.
“Aye, my lord. I’ve added more coal to the fire, and there are two hot bricks at the end of your bed,” Tipton murmured, tugging the garment from his master’s chest.
Matthew pulled his shirt from his head himself, hurrying to get his nightshirt on before the cool air in the room could chill him further. “I can do the rest,” he said as he waved off his valet.
“Very good, my lord,” Tipton replied, giving a bow before he quickly took his leave of the master bedchamber.
The viscount watched as the door shut, sure he had seen the man’s breath turn into a white cloud. He gave a thought as to how cold it must be in his wife’s bedchamber. Thought of how warm he might become if he could snuggle up next to her. If she were already asleep, it would be cruel to waken her with his cold body—and his colder feet—but he was determined to get warm.
Doffing his breeches, he was about to head to her bedchamber by way of the dressing room when Caroline suddenly appeared. A silk wrapper pulled tight around her body left little to the imagination. The silhouettes of her hardened nipples poked through the thin fabric and had Matthew’s body reacting in kind. He might have been in his mid-fifties, but he was still a man, and the sight of Caroline Harrington Fitzsimmons proved it. Her blonde hair, streaked with hints of golden gray, hung in waves around her shoulders, reminding him of how she always looked like his idea of a mythological siren—and how much he desired her.
“Would you mind very much if I joined you in your bed tonight?” she murmured, her manner almost apologetic. “It’s terribly chilly in my room.”
Matthew’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her hard against the front of his body. “Bless you, my sweeting,” he whispered, his lips taking purchase on her temple. “You’re always welcome in my bed,” he added in a whisper, his lips moving to her lips to kiss the corner of her mouth.
Caroline blinked as she gazed up at her husband. They had been married for years, and yet Matthew had never shown his affection quite like this. “I am?”
Matthew didn’t bother to reply, but rather scooped her into his arms and placed her onto his bed, ignoring her yelp of surprise. He followed a moment later after turning down the bedside lamp. “Of course, Caro,” he finally said, stretching out alongside her until one o
f his feet touched the still-warm cloth-covered brick. Lifting himself onto one elbow, he regarded his wife. Her blonde hair, swept out around her head, appeared as it were a golden halo. “My angel,” he whispered.
Gazing at him through half-closed eyes, Caroline reached a hand up to the side of his face. “I’d rather be a bit of a devil tonight,” she murmured, the word ‘devil’ only mouthed. “I would certainly welcome the warmth,” she added as she arched an elegant eyebrow to emphasize the invitation.
Desire slammed into Matthew in an instant, his manhood already hard from his having paid witness to the evidence of her erect nipples. His lips were on hers just as quickly, sliding and suckling until they locked into place, until his tongue could slip between her teeth and taste the port they had shared after his return from White’s. He reveled in the slight moan he heard emanate from the back of her throat, in how her chest rose beneath his. When she broke the kiss and gasped as if needing air, he simply moved his lips down the column of her throat, nibbling as he went. His tongue delved into the hollow of her throat and circled before moving to trace her collarbones.
At the same time, he felt one of her hands capture his and move it to one of her breasts. Cupping it gently through the silk and the lawn of the nightrail beneath her wrapper, he felt the hardened nipple settle between two fingers.
“Caro,” he breathed between kisses, his body warming faster than he thought possible. The tie of her silk wrapper suddenly undone, he realized she had pulled it apart. The buttons on the frilly nightrail beneath had already been undone, leaving one of her breasts bare. His mouth covered it before she could beg him to do so, his other hand giving up his hold on her to slip beneath the fine lawn to caress her other breast and belly. “Jesus, Caro, I want you so badly,” he whispered between kisses and nips and nibbles.
Her body undulating beneath him, Caro responded with a whispered, “Yes.”
It was all the invitation he needed.
The Enigma of a Spy (Regency Rendezvous Book 10) Page 2