by Lauren Smith
“Audrey, is everything all right?”
She managed an exhausted smile. “Yes, I think so.” She looked toward the doctor, who seemed as weary as she was. No doubt Jonathan had dragged him from his dinner.
“Doctor, the baby was born a little less than a quarter of an hour ago. We greatly appreciate you coming to look after my sister and the baby.”
The doctor nodded. “It is my pleasure, Miss Sheridan. May I go inside?”
“Yes, please.” She turned to Jonathan once they were alone. “Thank you for fetching the doctor.”
“I was glad to do something useful. Moments like these can’t help but make you feel…helpless.” He added the last word softly.
“You were far from helpless. I, on the other hand, did not manage much of anything.” She felt a wretched sinking feeling in her chest. How was she ever to become a lady spy if she froze at the sight of blood or trauma? Childbirth was supposed to be natural thing, and yet she’d been petrified.
Jonathan stepped closer. “Audrey, are you well?” She shrugged away from his touch and went down the stairs. If she didn’t get to her room soon, she was going to collapse from exhaustion. Jonathan looked so warm, strong, and inviting, but if she fell into his arms now, he would never respect her for the woman she was trying to be. And she was tired of him seeing her at her worst, when she was weak and ashamed. She heard his footsteps behind her.
“You need not follow me. I’m perfectly fine,” she declared, not looking over her shoulder.
“You look exhausted and had very little to eat at dinner. Why don’t we fetch something from the kitchen and find a place for you to rest?”
“You need not trouble yourself on my account.” Her words came out sharp, but she knew it was her hunger and fatigue speaking for her.
Jonathan caught her hand in his and tugged her toward him. “Come. The kitchens are this way.”
She tried to ignore the thrill she felt at him holding her hand and trying to take care of her, even if another part of her resented it. She was too tired to fight, so she followed him down to the kitchens, where the servants were just settling down to their own meal. The footmen and the maids leapt from their seats, but Jonathan waved them back down.
“Please, don’t trouble yourselves. We are only going to collect some food.”
A plump cook rose from her seat. “Let me help you, dear boy.” The cook winked at Jonathan, and Audrey wondered if the cook had known Jonathan back when he had been a servant. Godric no doubt had brought him to Lucien’s estate many times as a valet, and he would have spent time down here with the other servants. The cook prepared two plates laden with turkey, stuffing, sausages, cauliflower, and potatoes.
“And a bit of a treat for you…” The cook grinned as she placed rings of pineapples on their plates. Then she handed him a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“It seems you got your pineapples after all,” he teased as they left the kitchens.
“I did,” she admitted, feeling a little better.
Jonathan escorted her to her bedchamber, and she was too exhausted to tell him he shouldn’t come inside. Frankly, she was glad for the company.
They set the plates on the table by her bedside, and Jonathan stoked the fire. Then he removed his coat and laid it over the back of the chair. There was something in the look he gave that stilled her, an emotion she couldn’t read, and yet she knew everything was going to change tonight if he stayed.
“Eat. You need not wait on me,” he encouraged in a gentle voice that surprised her. He was always doing that, surprising her. She had a difficult time rationalizing his cool aloofness against this gentle thoughtfulness.
“I believe I’m too tired to play your games tonight. Why did you come here?”
“To the house, the party, or to your bedchamber?” He approached the bed and took his plate of food. She scooted over, and he sat down beside her, resting his plate on his thighs. It was rather tricky not to look at him. He truly was a fine specimen of a man.
“Why did you come to the party?”
He looked ahead at the fire, not her. “I promised you lessons, and this was a convenient way to keep my word.”
The lessons. Of course. Her heart twinged. She’d been so hopeful that he’d come for other reasons.
“The lessons could have waited.”
“They were important to you, or so I thought, so I saw no point in waiting.” He ate a few bites of his turkey before speaking again. “What is your favorite color?”
She stared at him. Was he joking?
“Your favorite color. What is it?”
“I honestly don’t have a favorite. For clothes there are several colors that favor my skin and hair, so I wear them more. Other colors I find are best suited for households or for displays. But I like all colors. Well, not all. Yellows aren’t so pleasant, nor are browns, though some can be quite attractive under the right light.” She paused when she realized she was prattling on about colors. And then she saw his face. He was smiling at her. What on earth for?
“Why is that so terribly amusing?”
“You’re normally such a decisive creature. The fact that you cannot choose something so simple as a favorite color is highly amusing.”
She glared at him and set her empty plate on the table at the side of her bed.
“The question is flawed at its core. The value of a color varies depending on the situation. One does not need a favorite.”
“I have a few favorite colors myself.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he reached out to caress her cheek. “The honey brown of your eyes, for example…or the pink rosebud of your lips. The alabaster of your skin.”
Audrey leaned into him. She was being lulled into a spell by his words and his touch, and she was too tired to fight her desire for him.
“See, you don’t have a favorite either,” she whispered as their eyes met.
“I have too many favorites. There’s quite a difference.”
A little shiver fluttered through her. I could have this small comfort, could I not? Surely fate will let me have this, if I am not destined for marital bliss?
He trailed his fingers down her throat and traced light patterns on her collarbone, leaning forward. Before their lips met, she saw a devilish and playful merriment light up his eyes. Then his mouth covered hers, and she was shocked by her own desire to respond. She had sworn not to let him affect her so, but she now realized that was as impossible as harnessing the wind. She would never stop wanting him.
13
Jonathan wound his arms around Audrey, pulling her to him. She tasted so sweet, and he knew he was making a dangerous move by kissing her now. The last thing he wanted was to make her regret being with him. He had no title and only a small estate to offer, yet she was the daughter of a viscount. Audrey acted quite forward in her thinking, but he didn’t trust that if it came down between her place in society and love that she would choose him.
And yet he couldn’t stop kissing her. She gave a soft purr that made him rigid with need. He wanted to see her come apart in his arms as she had that night at the Midnight Garden. He’d been brave enough to touch her then, to show her what could exist between them. To do wicked things without truly compromising her. He’d seen the startled look of dazed pleasure on her, and it had nearly destroyed him with desire. Audrey in the throes of passion had been perhaps the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.
His kisses turned soft, then hard, then soft again as he explored her in ways he’d only fantasized about. Their lips parted briefly, and he tried to catch his breath.
“Please, don’t stop.” Her whisper was a ragged pant that set his blood on fire. Surprise fluttered through him. It was almost too good to be true.
“You don’t want me to stop?” He nuzzled his nose against hers. She smiled up at him, making him feel like a king.
“No, I don’t. Please…” She gripped his waist and pulled him back down. Their mouths met, more gently but no less urgently. He to
ok his time, letting her tongue play against his. He wasn’t sure how long they kissed before he finally raised his head.
“You kiss like a dream,” she said.
“As do you,” he replied.
She stroked a fingertip along his jaw. “Thank you for bringing the doctor.”
He shifted his body so that they lay cuddled up, limbs entwined. “I’d do anything for you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Would you?”
“Yes.” If only you really knew how I felt.
“I want to believe you.” She sighed, her hand dropping from his face. He nuzzled her cheek, holding her close.
“Audrey…” Jonathan breathed her name, but when she didn’t respond, he glanced at her face. Her lashes had fallen upon her cheeks, and her body grew languid in his arms.
She’d fallen asleep. Of all the gods on Mount Olympus, which one had he angered to allow this to happen?
He stared down at her, asleep and smiling faintly like a contented kitten. She must’ve been exhausted after the events of the day. Her sister’s frightening labor, their quarrel, and her fighting lessons had all taken a toll on her.
He let go of her, sitting her gently on the bed. She stirred a little and reached out to him.
“Don’t leave me tonight,” she pleaded.
Jonathan cupped her face with one hand and brushed a thumb over her cheek. “I have no intention of doing so. Do you want me to call for a maid?”
“No.” She pouted and struggled a little, trying to offer her back to him. “You may undress me.” Her sleepy tone was still as imperious as a princess’s, but he couldn’t resist grinning.
“As you wish.” He gently unbuttoned her gown and slid it off her. Then he unfastened her stays and helped her out of her slippers and stockings. The rogue in him wanted to enjoy every moment of this, but he did it quickly. If he took his time, he might get carried away.
When he was down to her chemise, she slipped back under the sheets and fell asleep almost instantly. Her trust in him at that moment stunned him. He was going to stay, though not only because of their agreement, or because he had vowed to be her shadow. It was more than that. His brother, Godric, would have a good laugh if he ever learned just how hopelessly smitten he was with Audrey.
He made sure to lock the door. The last thing he needed was for them to be unexpectedly discovered together. Audrey’s marriage to him had to be by her choosing, not forced by scandal.
He removed his clothes except for his smallclothes before he climbed into bed beside her. She rolled into him as the mattress dipped, and he cradled her against his body. Her hair was still bound, and he carefully extracted the pins and set them aside. Her dark brown hair was like silk on his chest, and she snuggled closer.
This… This was what he would give anything to have. A lifetime of nights with her, just like this. And still he feared that it wasn’t possible. She might not want to give up the life she knew to marry down. And if she refused him, it would break his heart.
Avery Russell stood in the hall of a townhouse in Mayfair, his hands twitching nervously. He’d received a coded letter with instructions to report to Sir Hugo Waverly, the man he now answered to as a spy for king and country.
Avery hadn’t always been a spy. He began working at the Home Office in 1816, a young man fresh out of Cambridge, but it hadn’t taken long for his talents to surface and his path to become clear.
“Sir?” The butler approached him. “The master will see you now. Please, follow me.”
Avery handed his hat to a footman and followed the butler up the stairs. He was directed to a large study. His brows rose, taking in the yellow wallpaper and rococo plasterwork on the ceiling. A tall crystal chandelier hung above a Rosewood desk, creating an even more elaborate and elegant appearance to the room.
Hugo sat at his desk and glanced up when Avery entered. “Have a seat, Russell.”
Avery took the offered seat, his well-trained eyes noting Waverly’s clean-cut appearance. The man’s dark hair and eyes often made him seem threatening in the darker meeting places where Avery had met him, but with the early-morning sunlight coming through the window, the man merely appeared to be an ordinary nobleman, handsome enough to fit in well with the beau monde, but not so handsome as to leave an impression upon many people. The perfect look for a spy. Avery wished he looked more like Waverly, but with his somewhat red-gold hair and hazel-green eyes, he was quite unforgettable. There had been a number of times he’d had to color his hair or wear wigs to go undetected.
Waverly set a stack of letters aside a folded his hands, studying Avery. “Glad you got my letter.”
“I’m at your service. You mentioned a mission, sir?”
“Yes.” Waverly continued to watch him. “You started your career at the Home Office, did you not?”
“I did.” Avery glanced at the window behind Waverly at the sight of movement down in the gardens below. Some distance away from the house, a woman was walking in the gardens, a little boy following behind her, catching her skirts. It was a woman he recognized - Melanie Burns. At least, that had been her name before she married Waverly. Melanie had been briefly engaged to Avery’s eldest brother, Lucien. The engagement had been broken off, much to the relief of the Russell family.
“What was the nature of your work for the Home Office?”
“I was a precis writer.” That was a clerical position. His job had been to prepare a brief abstract of all important dispatches sent or received by the Home Office. He’d also entered the dispatches and abstracts into a book for clerks to consult when required.
“Ah, yes, that’s right. And moved up the ranks to a decipherer?”
“That’s correct.” It turned out he had an aptitude for decoding messages and ferreting out hidden meanings in intercepted correspondence.
“And then you were trained in following, reporting, and infiltrating groups that the Crown deemed a threat?”
Again, Avery nodded. Waverly had to know his background, so he wondered why the man was questioning him.
“I have a mission that is rather precarious. We have received word that a small sect of men, revolutionaries, have been gathering in France. Do you remember when the Duke of Berry was assassinated?”
“Yes, last year at the Paris Opera.” Avery remembered that incident all too clearly. The Home and Foreign Offices had been abuzz with the news. The Duke of Berry was the younger son of the Count of Artois, the brother of Louis XVIII.
“And what is your assessment of the situation in France?” Waverly asked.
“Well,” Avery said as he leaned back in his chair, “the French succession has been put into question. The count’s oldest son, the Duke of Angouleme, is childless. The lack of any male heirs might mean that the throne could pass to the Duke of Orléans and his children. But the Duke of Berry’s widow gave birth to a child last September.”
“We have reason to believe that if Louis XVIII dies, the Count of Artois will succeed him, and then his grandson through the Duke of Berry won’t matter to succession.”
“And you think he won’t be as accommodating to the liberal government?” Avery speculated. He’d come across enough reports in recent years to sense that the Count of Artois would likely ruffle the feathers of many and might cause another revolution.
“That is exactly my fear. And having an unstable French government puts ideas into the heads of radicals, like the reformists we’ve recently learned about. We can’t do much to stabilize the French court itself, but we can suppress revolutionaries while their activities are still in the cradle, as it were. The last thing we need are for those ideas to be successful and catch on over here.”
Avery leaned in, his voice lowering. “What is the mission?”
“I would like you to take a small team to France and see what you can learn from the French court firsthand. There is also the small matter of a reformist group of English traitors near Calais. We need that group infiltrated as quickly as possible and brought
down. I want names and locations of meetings. Once you’ve done that, you’ll move on to Paris and the royal court.”
“Whom will I be working with?” He began mentally assessing a list of individuals he’d worked with before.
“I would like Sheffield to go with you, and I’ve been hearing that Miss Sheridan is proving to be a worthy asset. What’s your opinion of her?”
“She’s still somewhat inexperienced,” Avery said cautiously, “But she has talent.”
“A lady is always a useful spy, especially in France. The gentlemen of the court are easily distracted by fluttering skirts and pretty smiles.”
Avery tilted his head, considering Waverly’s choice. “We do have several people in our employ with more experience. Miss Mirabeau, for example…”
“I won’t deny Mirabeau’s considerable skills,” said Waverly. “But she is French, and this opening gambit will require the appearance of a youthful outsider. Our other current assets are either already engaged or, shall we say, too seasoned?”
Avery considered this. It could work, but it was not without complications. “Miss Sheridan is unmarried. She will need a chaperone, a female to come with her or her brother, but given that her brother’s new wife is expecting, I doubt he’d wish to run off to France.”
“I’ve already come up with an idea. Miss Sheridan will travel as Sheffield’s wife. He’s young and attractive and will make a convincing husband for her. They need not share rooms; it is common enough that married couples sleep apart.” Waverly then looked out the window where they could see his wife. Melanie was now seated and watching the small boy toddle about on chubby legs. She likely had no idea they could see her from the second story of the house.
“You said Sheridan’s wife is expecting?” Waverly’s voice was quiet now.
“Yes, she is. Now about this Sheffield marriage, I’m not sure her brother would approve. What if word reached London and people assumed it was true?”