When a Lady Dares (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service)

by Tara Kingston

  His hand cupped her breast, circling her nipple, teasing, loving, coaxing. He ducked his head, catching the delicate nub between his lips. His tongue darted out, swirling tiny circles over the pebbled flesh.

  Could desire truly drive one mad? She closed her eyes, melting into him, trusting his strong arms to hold her.

  He guided her backward to the settee, one small step after another. Her calves bumped the cushion, and he eased her down.

  “Relax, Sophie. Give me your pleasure. That’s all I ask.”

  His other hand pressed her back, and then his arm slid behind her, holding her in a light, open embrace. A wicked smile played on his mouth.

  “I want to touch you. Everywhere.” He pressed a tender caress to her lips. “Tell me, darling. Do you want me, Sophie?”

  Her name on his lips tore down the last of the shields she’d erected around her heart. She gave a fierce nod.

  “Yes, Gavin. So very much.”

  Slipping her skirts higher, his hand edged along her thigh. His so-very-clever fingers trailed leisurely along the inside of her leg, stirring her hunger for him to a fever pitch. He kissed her then, teasing her mouth with his, even as his hand glided over the soft cotton of her chemise. Exploring her heat. Testing her response.

  She arched her back and released a soft breath, a silent plea for more of his touch.

  He flashed a hint of a smile, deliciously wicked, and obliged her unspoken request. His fingers slid under her chemise, found the opening in her drawers.

  His fingers brushed the flesh at the apex of her thighs. Light, feathery touches, each kindling a new spark of pleasure, a sweet, intense ache that spread heat through her limbs, through her veins. She wanted this…wanted him.

  His possessive touch was even more entrancing than she’d imagined. Indescribable tenderness melded with a fierce hunger, commanding her senses. Each brush of his fingertips stirred an innate need to a near-blinding swell of desire. And still, he kissed her, anointing her throat and the curve of her breasts with whisper-light caresses.

  She drifted in a whirlpool of sensation. Clinging to him. Digging her fingertips into his powerful shoulders.

  “Oh, Gavin.” Tinged with the intensity of her thirst for him, her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

  “Sweet, sweet Sophie,” he rasped against her ear. “Come for me, darling. Give me the gift of your pleasure.”

  His gravel-edged plea unleashed the last of her restraint. Pleasure engulfed her. So very intense. Nearly akin to pain, yet so utterly delicious and wanton.

  He muffled her cry of passion with his kiss. And still, she clung to him, trusting him with her surrender. At that moment, she would have given him anything.

  Her body. Her heart. Her love.

  Love.

  The word drifted through her hazy thoughts. Surely I am not falling in love with Gavin Stanwyck.

  No, that could not be.

  The very notion was a kind of madness. She was not a woman who cultivated tender emotions. Didn’t she know better? She would never surrender her heart to a man—any man, no matter how handsome and dashing and clever. No matter how thorough and unselfish a lover he might be.

  She held him closer, savoring the aftershocks of her climax. There’d be time to consider such questions later, when she was able to form a rational thought. For now, she wanted only to lie with Gavin, to drink in every precious moment in his arms.

  “That was…a most breathtaking experience,” she whispered against his mouth. Her hands glided lower, exploring the contours of his chest, the sinewy muscles of his arms. Her palms glanced over the firm, flat plane of his abdomen. A dark, tantalizing line of brown hair led from his navel lower, to the ridge of his erect shaft, straining against the taut fabric of his trousers.

  She swallowed hard against a wave of desire. She wanted to touch his aroused flesh, to send him coursing into that same vortex of sensation. Could she be so bold? She drew in a sharp breath.

  He stilled her hand and caressed the curve of her cheek. “I want you desperately, but now is not the time.”

  “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you.”

  “God, you’re beautiful, Sophie. Especially when you’re flushed with passion.” He swept an errant curl behind her ear. “Stay with me. Say you’ll spend the day…and the night…with me.”

  …

  A sharp rapping at the door tore Gavin from the haze of desire. What the bloody hell? What could be so blasted urgent?

  “Professor, ye have a visitor,” Mrs. Edson called through the door. “Farnsworth is assisting Avery at the moment, so I took the liberty of welcomin’ yer guest.”

  Blast the luck.

  It wasn’t like Mrs. Edson to disturb him when he’d retired to his study. Of course, given Sophie’s presence, the matron had no reason to believe he’d be huddled with his journals or immersed in research. He dragged in a breath, stripping away his momentary irritation.

  “Please take his card and offer my regrets.”

  “It’s Mr. MacIntyre, sir. He insists on seein’ ye,” the housekeeper persisted. “He says it’s a matter of some urgency.”

  Henry. Had his assistant learned of his close call the night before? More likely, he’d stumbled upon a new scrap of information, some new intelligence that might point to the culprit who’d led Peter to his death.

  Sophie inclined her head toward the door, then met his gaze. Her smile was soft and so damned tempting, it was all he could do to leave the settee and the warm, delicious woman reclining against it.

  “Impeccable timing, if I must say,” she whispered. “You must see what it’s about.”

  With a groan, Gavin shrugged his shirt over his shoulders. “Give me a moment,” he called to the housekeeper.

  Sophie closed her blouse and stood to smooth her skirts. Her slender fingers combed through her hair, arranging the lush honey-gold curls in some semblance of order. Not that it mattered. She might appear as prim as a vicar’s wife, but the lovely rose flush on her cheeks would betray they’d occupied their time behind closed doors involved in a pursuit far more stimulating than discussing hieroglyphs and excavation techniques.

  With a turn of the latch, Gavin opened the door. Henry stood behind Mrs. Edson, his expression grim. He stepped forward into the chamber.

  “Mrs. Edson told me you were set upon by thieves last night. Are you well?”

  “Well enough,” Gavin replied, slanting his housekeeper a speaking glance.

  “I knew you’d want Mr. MacIntyre to be informed.” The matron clipped off the words. “I’m not one to run carrying tales, no matter how exciting.”

  “Indeed. It’s one of the qualities I most value in you, Mrs. Edson.”

  The housekeeper’s gaze lit on Sophie. Mrs. Edson held her features firm, though her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile and had thought better of it. Just as he thought, Sophie’s telltale blush laid waste to any attempt at discretion.

  “Might I bring tea and biscuits?”

  “No, thank you. That will be all for now.”

  The matron went on her way, closing the door behind her. Gavin spoke a few words of introduction. All the while, Henry eyed Sophie as if she were Delilah, come to call with shears in hand. Damned odd, given the man had seemed ready to charge to her defense just two nights earlier.

  “Sophie Devereaux.” Henry uttered her name as if it were an epithet. “Have you taken it upon yourself to enlighten Professor Stanwyck as to the truth? Or should I?”

  Perched on the settee, Sophie curled her fingertips into the arm of the piece. Her complexion blanched as her mouth thinned to a seam. Henry’s tone was unacceptable. He had no call to unsettle her.

  He turned to his assistant. “Blast it, Henry, what’s got into you? I’ll ask you not to speak to the lady in that manner.”

  “I see she hasn’t told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  Henry marched to the settee, glaring down at her. “Are you going to tell him the
truth, or should I have that honor?”

  What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? Gavin clamped a hand over the younger man’s arm. “Have you gone mad? Move away from the lady.”

  Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but Henry cut her off. “He deserves the truth. Because of you, he was nearly killed. He deserves to know—”

  Gavin dug his fingers into his assistant’s lapels and pulled him roughly aside. “I will not tolerate such boorishness in a lady’s presence. Especially from you.”

  “Lady?” Henry’s brows rose. “I do not know if that description applies.”

  Bugger it, he’d gone too far. Had the man been drinking so early in the morning? Gavin reined in an impulse to plow his fist into Henry’s reddened face.

  Sophie’s hand upon his forearm calmed him. “There is no need for violence. I should go.”

  “Tell him, Miss Devereaux.” The anger in Henry’s voice had dimmed. “Or should I call you Miss Adams?”

  Sophie went very still. The look in her eyes seemed a confession.

  He gave his assistant a shake, as if that would tamp down the anger in his eyes. “Enough, Henry.”

  “She is known to her readers as S. Adams.”

  “S. Adams? God above, Henry, I am the one who was drugged last night. And yet you’re barging in here spouting drivel about false identities. What’s come over you?”

  Sophie lifted her hand and stepped away. Two arms’ length separated them, as if she’d deliberately put the distance between them as a buffer.

  “There is no need to be angry with Mr. MacIntyre.” Her softly spoken words were edged with steel. “He is speaking the truth. S. Adams is an alias, one I’ve used long enough for it to be as comfortable as a long-cherished blanket. Shall we say the public is far more receptive to an exposé if the readers do not know a woman is holding the pen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sophie faced the men with her chin held high, her spine stiff as a washerwoman’s board. It wouldn’t do to reveal that her nerves had nearly gotten the better of her. The accusation in Henry’s eyes had set her pulse racing, until he’d spoken the name she used as a byline. It was bad enough he’d learned she was a reporter. Thank heavens he had not gained knowledge of her mission, of her role within the Colton Agency.

  Suspicion darkened Gavin’s gaze. He hadn’t trusted her from the start. Indeed, he’d seen through her charade from the moment she’d first looked into his eyes. Peculiar that he appeared shocked by the revelation. Surely, he did not prefer to believe she was merely a charlatan out to line her own pockets through others’ grief.

  Of course, she’d deceived him into believing just that. Even his offer of protection was intended to shelter a woman who’d employed parlor tricks and blatant lies to put a roof over her head, a woman who lacked the means to escape the threat on her own. How it must set him back on his heels to realize she’d fooled him with her act.

  And now, she needed to continue her performance. She could not reveal the true purpose of her investigation—she could not confide her service to the Crown.

  If only the falsehoods and half-truths did not taste so bitter on her tongue. She longed to know Gavin, to learn his secrets and what drove his quests. Without honesty, she could never truly know the man behind the confident explorations.

  She could never truly know him.

  Deep within, her heart ached with a cruel reality. She’d tasted his passion. She’d drunk in his scent and luxuriated in the pleasure of his touch. But she’d never have more than that. Her duty would not allow it.

  She’d never have him. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

  He pinned her with his gaze. “You are a reporter— All of this…has been an act?”

  Was that pain in his voice? Did he think she’d reveled in his touch as a mere ploy, inducing him to confide in her for the benefit of a blasted story?

  “I write for the Herald.” She held her voice steady and proud. “Does that truly surprise you?”

  He didn’t answer her question. “You’re a better actress than I’d credited you.”

  “I wished to investigate a psychic’s dealings. Séances and the like make for good copy.”

  “And your time spent as Trask’s assistant…that was all a ruse?”

  “How better to learn the man’s ways?”

  His eyes narrowed, piercing her with cold disgust. “You made fools of those people. Does that trouble you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But there was nothing to be done about it. I told them what they wanted to hear.”

  “And a bastard like Adam McNaughton…did you consider you were playing a dangerous game with a man like him? He’s a criminal, a ruffian of the worst sort.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “He came to Trask seeking what they all do, solace for a wounded soul.”

  “If your charade induced him to loosen his tongue, he might well have second thoughts about letting you go about carrying tales.”

  Sophie hiked her chin another notch. “A certain element of danger factors into most of my investigations. There’s nothing to be done about it.”

  She nervously smoothed her skirts, even as the younger man’s gaze bore into her, piercing as a lance.

  Gavin rubbed the back of his neck. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

  The question cut through her, unleashing a sudden, unexpected pain. Had she even considered he would learn the truth of her identity? Now, a portion of her secret life had been revealed. It was imperative that he not discover the whole of the matter. If she were exposed as an agent of the Crown, the entire mission would be irreparably compromised.

  “I had not planned to tell you.” She shot Henry a pointed glance. “Truth be told, the revelation is rather unfortunate. I’d looked forward to alerting my readers to the perils of Trask’s lucrative enterprise.”

  Gavin glanced away for the briefest of moments. Clearly, she’d wounded him. Again.

  Blast it, she hadn’t intended to hurt him. He’d gone to such lengths to prove himself a hedonistic cad, interested only in the delight two willing souls might find in each other’s arms. She’d wanted a taste of that pleasure, a delicious memory. It wasn’t as if they’d spoken words of love. There’d been no hint of anything of the sort. No vows. No promises. Nothing beyond the sweetness of those heady, stolen moments when all that had mattered was the flavor of his kiss.

  “I must commend you on the caliber of your performance.” A subtle bitterness marked his tone. “You certainly had me going.”

  She swallowed hard against the implication in his words. Surely he could not believe what had happened between them was part of her act.

  “I did not wish to hurt anyone.” Why did her throat burn with unshed emotion? The truth seemed nearly as difficult to speak as the lies.

  It was his turn to shrug. “Only a fool would be wounded by your performance. As you said, you told them what they wanted to hear. All for the greater good, I suppose.”

  “I intended to expose Trask as a fraud.”

  “Indeed.” His eyes flashed. “I had not taken you for such a skilled liar. You truly went above and beyond the call of duty.”

  His cutting words sliced through her. She shook off the emotion that plagued her and met his suddenly cold eyes. “I was rather convincing, if I say so myself.”

  Gavin leaned back on his heels and folded his arms, taking her in. “Perhaps not as convincing as you thought. If Trask knows the truth…he will try to silence you.”

  An image of the news clipping flashed in her mind’s eye. By now, Trask had likely discovered the picture and the accompanying letters were gone. He would suspect her. And perhaps, he would seek her out.

  But she would be in hiding, safe behind luxurious, well-guarded doors.

  Her stomach knotted at the thought of leaving Gavin behind to face the threat on his own.

  “I have considered that possibility,” she said, stripping her voice of emotion. “It seems
you and I have both put our necks on the line for something we believe in. You still have not confided your reasons to me.”

  He studied her, the casualness of his pose at odds with his penetrating focus. “What is there to tell? Trask’s manipulations led a good man to his death. I will see him face justice.”

  “You cannot go through with this.” The passion in Sophie’s voice surprised even herself. “Leave London now. While you can.”

  “You think I would walk away?”

  “That is my hope.”

  “And what of you, Sophie?”

  She drew in a breath and released it. If only she could tell him the truth. Allowing him to care for her had been a grave mistake. As long as he fancied himself her protector, he would be in danger.

  “What happens to me is none of your concern.” Amazing, how cool the words sounded as they dripped from her tongue.

  His eyes darkened, stormy as the sea at Cornwall. “We both know that is no longer the case.”

  She brushed past him, skirts swishing about her ankles as she marched to the door. She had to leave this place now, before she revealed too much, before she allowed her feelings to make her weak.

  She paused before his assistant, offering a crisp nod. “Mr. MacIntyre, I regret I cannot say making your acquaintance has been a pleasure. Perhaps another time.”

  “Sophie, you do not need to leave,” Gavin said, his voice rough with feeling. “Together, we can see this through.”

  She stopped in her tracks. If the Crown Prince had come to call, she would have been less surprised.

  If Gavin had spewed angry recriminations, facing her duty would have been infinitely easier. When he looked at her like that, with decency and concern and an emotion she could not entirely fathom, her heart felt as if it might splinter in two.

  Reaching for the door, she paused, turning to meet his dark gaze.

  “Thank you for a most memorable experience. I must be on my way.”

  “Sophie, what can I tell you that will persuade you to stay?”

  Emotion scalded her throat. She swallowed against it as she opened the door.

  “We’ve both said too much.” She threw a glance over her shoulder as she marched to the entry door. “Good-bye, Gavin.”