Enemy's Kiss

by Jun, Kristi

  She closed her eyes, memories of him and his kisses still raw on her mind. Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus. What did she expect? That Michael cared, that he wanted her? Still, she could not deny the keen sense of regret of not knowing what might have happened to them if she had shown up that night. And while it may have been a dream, she felt the intimacy of their kiss as surely as the beating of her own heart.

  It didn’t matter now.

  She looked around the strange room: a desk, a chair, a dresser drawer, and a free standing oval mirror. All made of sturdy wood and only the essentials. Where was she? She recalled the lighthouse, Michael banging on the door and an elderly man. Was this his home then? It must be.

  Shifting in the bed, the wool blanket fell further down and to her horror she was—naked. Yes! Quite. Who undressed her? The thought of Michael peeling off her dress and seeing her utterly naked made her blush and mortified.

  A knock at the door. She quickly pulled the blanket up to her neck. In that instant, the door creaked open and she saw Michael at the threshold. Gripping the wool blanket for dear life, she tried to smile at him, quite unsuccessfully.

  Looking more magnificent than before, if that were possible, he stood there in his shirt, sleeves rolled up, and breeches, his dark hair tousled and his stubbled chin making him look dangerous and wild. Yet, there was a twinkle in his eyes today, one that she hadn’t seen before. Not since they were together….

  He smiled wide.

  She didn’t.

  The man saw her entirely naked for heaven’s sake. And the thought was rather unsettling yet something in her was wantonly aroused by the thought. After all, she’d never been naked in front of a man, any man for that matter. She’d been kissed before, but the truth was she’d never had much experience in that arena, at least not with anyone other than Michael. The one exception was an occasional peck from Geoffrey, that didn’t set her stomach fluttering.

  He walked into the room and closed the door. “How are you feeling?”

  She pulled the blanket up further and tightened the grip. “I feel much better.”

  He smiled wide again.

  Damn his smile—it made her insides giddy like a green girl. She saw that he held a plate with what looked to be meat pie and a fork in the other hand. He then placed the plate and fork on the night table next to the bed and leaned in.

  She drew back, pulling the blanket tightly around her, if that were possible.

  “I won’t bite,” he said.

  There was a hint of flirtation in his tone. He touched her forehead. “Cool as a spring breeze.” He smiled. “Here I brought you some food, if you are up to it.”

  “Thank you. What is it?”

  “Squab pie,” he said. “The keeper tells me it will cure all ailments.”

  “Squab?” She crinkled her nose. “I was never fond of pigeons.”

  “Mutton and apples, actually.”

  “It’s very kind of him. I don’t think I can eat just yet, but I’ll be sure to thank the host.” Then an awkward silence followed for several seconds. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Two days.”

  “Two days?” She gazed at him, a sudden feeling akin to gratitude tugging at her even if he was doing it as a duty to protect her. Standing there, she sensed from him a gentle kindness and she was moved by his gesture. Perhaps he didn’t detest her as much as she thought.

  “What is the matter?” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “There is no need to be embarrassed,” he said. “You are a beautiful woman,” Michael admitted. “I can tell you I made every effort not to look while I undressed you…but would you believe me?”

  She blushed. Beautiful? Why do you have to be so nice?

  Yes, she was indeed embarrassed lying naked under a wool blanket while he stood there looking at her. More than anything, she felt warmth in her heart, the kind that made her want to trust again, to hope again. And that was dangerous territory she dared not venture into again. “Thank you…for everything.”

  “No need to thank me,” he quickly said, brushing away any sentiment between them. “It is my duty to protect you.”

  A duty? Of course. Why else would he risk his own safety for her? How stupid was she to think there was anything more, she chided. “I’d like to get dressed, if you do not mind.”

  “Of course.” With that, he left the room.

  She saw her dress, chemise and stockings draped over a chair nearby. Walking over to it with the blanket firmly wrapped around her, she reached for her chemise. She let the blanket fall at the base of her feet and quickly pulled the chemise over her head, followed by her dress and finally the stockings. Gathering her hair, she brushed it back with her hand, but unfortunately she had no ribbons or pins to secure it in place. “Oh, it’ll have to do.” While she checked herself in the oval mirror, his words came crashing back vexing her again: you are a beautiful woman.

  She’s heard those words from him once before, the first time they’d kissed. But he had admitted she’d been a mere distraction, hadn’t he? Even thanking her for providing the much-needed diversion. Had he really meant it? Was he simply using his instinct to protect his male pride? Would she dare delve into that dangerous terrain again?

  She shook her head. It was she who made the choice to stay away and it was she who feigned not to care when it was the complete opposite.

  You made your choice.

  The first night was difficult. The second day was excruciating.

  Fifty-one hours of agonizing fever felt more like fifty-one days to him. And, when her fever finally broke, a sense of utter relief had washed over Michael.

  When he asked about the town doctor, the lighthouse keeper had informed him the town doctor had passed away months ago. The late doctor’s son, however, was in the nearby village about half a day’s ride attending to a feverish family. There was not a damned thing he could do, but wait. Never in his adult life had he felt so helpless.

  He sipped hot tea from a mug at the kitchen table. Early morning, after the storm broke, he sent letters to his men: One message went to Brandon who posed as a new stable hand at Chatham Hall in order to watch over his family. The other letter was sent to Row in London to keep an eye on Lord Tomkin.

  While he trusted Roberts from the way things were developing, he needed to take extra caution every step of the way. He sighed, mentally going over the list of things he needed to carry out once he arrived in London; the clues such as the hired gun who killed their captor on the ship and Geoffrey’s last words to him. He tried to connect the dots, but none of it made sense.

  The keeper appeared at the threshold. “I found this near the shores.” He walked up to Michael, holding a half-dry satchel in his hand. Walking over to the kitchen table, he handed the bag to Michael.

  Michael tipped his head in appreciation, then placed the bag on the floor by his feet. “We appreciate your hospitality.” The keeper’s life was a precarious one, out here by the frigid sea lighting the way for weary sailors. “Call me Michael.”

  The keeper smiled, his eyes jolly and his smile carefree. “Aric,” the keeper said. “It’s good to have visitors now and again.” He walked to the kitchen counter to pick up the carafe and pour himself a hot cup of tea, then joined Michael at the table. “And it gives me a chance to polish my social skills. I don’t get many visitors out here. I take it you’re not from around here?”

  Michael sensed the loneliness in his tone, as he too felt such loneliness on the missions he’d been sent off to. “No, we are not.”

  “Thought as much.”

  Michael looked around the kitchen for telling signs that he had a family, but he saw none. Perhaps he was a widower? “You could always bring your family here to stay with you?” Normally, he avoided conversation that involved family or private affairs, but he didn’t think the old man would mind. In fact, there was a sense of emptiness in him.

  Aric shook his head; the look on his face was as if Michael hit a nerve.
For a moment, the host sat there quiet, sipping his tea, the lines of his forehead carrying the burdens of whatever life had thrown at him.

  “My son died young. I am all that is left of McIvor. The town needed a lighthouse keeper, so I volunteered.”

  “Scottish?” Michael heard no accent even with his trained ear for such things.

  “I came here to live with my aunt when I was about yae high,” he said gesturing with his hand that indicated he must have been no more than two or three. “It’s not the loss we are consumed with,” Aric said. “We all have to go sometime, right?” He paused as if he was recalling a painful memory. “My son had been ill for some time. It was time.”

  “True. We all have to go one of these days.”

  “It’s the regret, the things we didn’t get to say, the things we wished we’d done together, that’s crippling to think about, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.”

  “No, no,” Aric said, waving his hand in the air. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry about your son.” Michael recalled Ashley. If she were alive she’d be nearly seven and twenty by now and perhaps with children of her own….

  “Where are you from?” the Keeper asked, changing the subject.

  “A small town just outside of Norwich.” The words slipped out easily, it’s what he’d been trained to say.

  The man observed him curiously, his jolly eyes becoming more critical. “You and your wife will be heading north then?

  “We hope to, yes.”

  “There isn’t a coaching inn out here that will drive up as far as Norwich, but there is the Crazy Goose Inn, a half-mile from here. Post-chaise and mail-coach comes through there every other day from London. But you and your wife are welcome to say here as long as you need to.”

  Just then he heard faint steps down the hall. When Emma entered the kitchen, fully dressed, her hair half hazard, but looking healthy and quite beautiful, he abruptly stood, looking rather ceremonial and awkward. She smiled wide at their host. Instead of coming to join him, she walked up to Aric.

  “I want to thank you for all you’ve done for us.” Then she looked at Michael before she spoke the last few words. “My husband and I would not have made it without your generosity.”

  “Nonsense,” Aric blurted out, smiling wide. “I’m just happy to see you’re feeling better this morning. Your man here paced the room like a rabid dog all night. You had him worried to death. I feared he may have chased the doctor down from the ends of the earth and dragged him here if you didn’t get better soon.”

  Her brows lifted. “Did he now?” she said, gracing Michael with a wicked smile. “I am a lucky woman, aren’t I?”

  Michael listened as she charmed Aric, so he felt compelled to allow for the pleasantries and did not interrupt their exchange. Of course, he would never admit not even to himself, that he couldn’t take his eyes off her and he found her to be quite delightful.

  If he didn’t know any better, he thought he might be falling for this woman all over again.

  Which, of course, he was not.

  CHAPTER 11

  Crazy Goose Inn

  The thick morning fog had dissipated and the vibrant sun peeked through the scattered clouds. Emma sat by the bow window in the far corner of the silent dining room and looked out at the quiet street. The soft morning light gave the place a sense of enchanted stillness and she felt a strange sense of connection, one that she wished to steal just a bit longer.

  The building across the narrow cobble street stocked wares for vendors and milkmaids to sell for the day. An older woman gathering fresh fish into her cart suddenly threw her head back and laughed as her friend chatted away.

  Emma smiled, recalling a childhood friend, one she hadn’t spoken to in years. She considered writing to her, but what would she say? Ignoring the firm tug in her heart, she turned away from the two women and looked at the empty dining room. After much set back, they were on their way to find Jimmy, the man the gunman spoke of on the ship. With that thought, an ember of optimism sparked her spirit again.

  If only she could say the same for Michael. When she thought she finally understood the man in some measure, he proved to be quite the opposite. Yesterday, after leaving the lighthouse, he promptly rented one room and ordered dinners to be delivered to them before he left to secure the perimeter of the inn. When she awoke after midnight, she saw him sleeping on a sofa near the fireplace with a pistol in his hand.

  At times, she sensed an overwhelming need for him to shield her, as if she were this fragile thing who needed to be coddled. At other times, he seemed distant, aloof, putting infinite space between them.

  A woman holding a toddler in her arms and a pretty blond walked passed her table. Behind them, an older gentleman followed the two women. The toddler ogled at her as they passed, and she waved at the tot. Such a precious little thing.

  Michael strolled into the dining room and approached her table wrapped in a tobacco brown greatcoat, tan breeches and Hussar boots. Her eyes lowered and caught a glimpse of his misshaped cravat. His sharp blue eyes flickered with playfulness as he sat down in the chair across from her and her heart shamefully lurched. His mood was quite significantly lighter compared to last night. Perhaps a restful night was what he needed after all.

  “For you.” Michael sat the mug down in front of her, the hot steam rising from the mug. “I’ve brought you some hot cider. I know how much you enjoy hot chocolate in the morning, but the owner insists the cider here is the best in town.”

  “I see. Thank you.” She held the mug and slowly sipped, the balmy drink warming her insides. Her gaze lifted as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Her eyes lowered to his ramshackle cravat set against the Spanish blue waistcoat that brought out the green speckles in his eyes. She watched in fascination while he held his mug and lifted it to his lips to take a sip. It was quite dangerous for her to dip her thoughts in such perilous waters, conjuring up images of exactly what those able hands could do to please the opposite sex.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “You seem…conflicted.”

  Quite. “Conflicted? No, just a bit tired from travel.”

  He frowned. “I’m not going to judge.”

  “I am fine, really.”

  “If you insist,” he said. “Breakfast should arrive in a few minutes.”

  She had to admit, there was a sense of comfort in knowing Michael was by her side. Lord Tomkin had been there for her, hadn’t he? But it wasn’t the same. She lifted her mug and took a sip of the hot cider, the delicious liquid warming her. Watching him from the rim of her mug, she wondered if she had ever truly stopped loving this man. “I believe I have made grave errors in my estimation of you.”

  “You have?” He wiped his lips and cocked his brows. “Dare I ask what they may be?”

  This handsome devil was actually flirting with her. Still, she wasn’t the sort to take his empty flirtation as anything but just that—meaningless. “I have nothing but good intentions in what I have to say.” She traced the rim of her warm mug with her forefinger and looked squarely at him. “I want to thank you for what you did for me back there on the ship and when I took ill with fever.”

  He waved his hand in dismissal. “There is no need for you to thank me.”

  Emma saw Michael smile at the pretty young blond as she sauntered past their table. She cleared her throat as a pang of jealously shot through her. “Nonetheless, I feel a proper thank you is warranted.” Her words came out curt, agitated.

  He studied her for several seconds, as if reading her thoughts. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  She sighed. “Why should I be worried? As I was saying, I am sorry about what I said to you at Hyde Park….” She fidgeted with her skirt before continuing. “I was quite harsh, and in my defense, I didn’t know if you could be trusted. After all, Geoffrey was your childhood friend.”

&nb
sp; He nodded. “He was more than a friend.” Putting his mug down, he intently looked at her. “There is no need for this, really.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it will make me feel better, so indulge me a little.” She paused. “I had no right to judge you. You’ve given your life to your country and that is a noble thing. I confess, in many ways, I couldn’t see it because I was blinded by my anger.”

  His brows rose at her remark. “We all have our blind spots, don’t we?” Leaning back on his chair, he shifted, but his eyes never left her, as if meaning to make a point with his last comment. “You surprised me with your resilience. And I was certain you wouldn’t last more than a day in the field. You are brave to do this for your family.”

  “The truth is…I don’t feel very brave most of the time. I am uncertain of this mission.”

  “Bravery isn’t about knowing all the answers,” he said. “It’s about facing the uncertainties, despite the fear.”

  Something in her shifted. It seemed there was a greater purpose, one that she was glad to be part of, one that meant not only finding justice for her family, but perhaps serving humankind. “And here I thought you were a jaded spy.”

  “Spy, yes. Jaded? Perhaps,” he admitted.”

  She took another sip of the warm cider. He said nothing and in many ways she was glad for it. He held her gaze and just when she thought he had something to add, the waiter walked up to their table with two plates.

  The savory aroma filled the air around them and, instantly, her stomach growled and her mouth watered. Folding her hands on her lap, she watched as the waiter placed two plates with aromatic sausages, perfectly done eggs, and warm biscuits in front of them.

  “Do you require anything else, sir?” the young man asked Michael.

  “Thank you, but no.”

  Splitting the warm biscuits in halves with her hands, she used the knife to scoop up a dab of butter and spread it on her biscuit. She took a bite. “This is delectable.”

  “Try the eggs. I know how you like the yolk rare.”