by Anne Renwick
Was he?
“Yes. For entirely selfish reasons.” He had to tell her. Any decision reached needed to account for the possibility that their marriage might be a brief one.
“As am I.” Contemplative now, she circled him. “You’re handsome. Intelligent. Second in line for a title. All reasons other women might rank you above other men. Each are points in your favor, but my top priority is to expedite the process of becoming a Queen’s agent.”
And he was a convenient steppingstone. An honest answer. “No interest in becoming a societal liaison?”
She rolled her eyes. “As if such was an option for me. I possess none of the social qualifications.”
All unfortunately true. He gave an understanding nod.
“And your selfish reasons?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “I’ve a tumor lodged within my skull.” He’d begin as he meant to go on, with honesty. It was only fair to give her this chance to walk away, even if it ended his career as an agent.
Her lips formed a soft “oh”. She glanced away, then back. “I’m so very sorry. I presume it’s deadly?”
His laugh was rueful. “Not exactly.” He took a deep breath. “It’s a benign pituitary adenoma. Imminent death is not a worry, though there are—and will be—significant side effects. The primary and direct threat is to my eyesight, a complication I find difficult, no, impossible to accept. For now, it largely impacts only a portion of my peripheral vision. Lord Thornton is exploring survivable surgical options on my behalf.”
Understanding filled her eyes. “Hence your interest in the venomous woman’s extraction device.”
He nodded. “It appears to be an advanced device…”
“You wish to catch the not-a-vampire so that you might examine her device, the one used upon that poor woman, in hopes that it might be modified to suit your needs?”
“Stopping the murders is my central goal, but any technological revelations would be welcome.” From the corner of his eye, he caught the duke and duchess glancing in their direction. Sand ran quickly through the hourglass. There was no help for it. Courtship reduced to a few blunt sentences. “Regardless of the duration of our marriage, I’ve considerable resources to offer. You’re beautiful, brilliant and well-connected. It would be an be honor to call you my wife.”
“Beautiful?” She hesitated, frowned, then began to turn away. “Perhaps this is a bad idea.”
She doubted his attraction? There was no avoiding it then. He caught her elbow. “Is this about the kiss?”
Scowling, she yanked her arm away. “Of course it’s about the kiss. Beautiful, yet somehow not appealing? The half-truth trips easily from your tongue. I want a partner and a husband, not a disinterested man prone to extramarital affairs. Trust would be compromised. I won’t have it, not to save my career or yours.”
“Disinterest?” A glance toward the garden informed him that their audience had once again turned their backs, but this moment of privacy would be fleeting. “That’s your sole objection?”
Her jaw jutted, obstinate. Willing to burn both their futures to the ground because she believed he wouldn’t honor his vows. “It is a valid concern.”
One that was easy enough to address.
Was he really going to do this? Commit to a lifetime—however long or short that might be—with a woman he’d known for less than thirty-six hours?
It seemed so.
“I count myself an honorable gentleman, not one who lightly breaks promises or abandons his responsibility.” He dropped his hands to her hips, onto the points of the soft velvet belt encircling her waist, careful to keep his grip light. “An entire life spent observing the proprieties,” he pushed, forcing her to take a step backward, “does not lend itself to easy displays of affection in a Covent Garden pub.”
A faint smile teased her lips now. “Performance anxiety?”
He scoffed. He’d been as stiff as an iron poker against her hip and struggling for control. How had she not noticed? “Rather a preference for keeping private matters private. Especially in front of family members prone to indiscretion.”
Another step—one she took with him—brought them into the corner of the stone shelter. So close that the silk of her skirts folded about the wool of his trousers, close enough for her soft breath to mingle with his own. He lifted his palm to her smooth cheek and traced the fullness of her lower lip with his thumb.
She nipped at it. “You’re wasting time.” She slipped her arms about his neck, fingers dancing along the edge of his hair. “You should know I’m no innocent. Your display of gentlemanly restraint won’t convince me of anything.”
Her declaration did not surprise him. Cait was a woman who would investigate anything that intrigued her, all to satisfy curiosity. Why not sexual relations?
“I don’t care about any men in your past.”
“No?”
“No. So long as they stay there.” But she was correct. He’d been holding back. “I find you intensely attractive.” He nibbled at the lobe of her ear. “Fascinatingly intelligent.” Then trailed his lips over the edge of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her skin. “Imagine what we might accomplish together as partners.”
“As Queen’s agents in the field?” Her breath was a soft exhalation, but no less demanding because of it. “Or as husband and wife?”
“Both, as that’s what you wish.” Envisioning how they could pass the duller hours of such work had portions of his lower anatomy once again standing at full attention. He pressed her against the stone wall, letting her feel his desire. “I look forward to exploring the possibilities of what we can achieve together, both in the proverbial marriage bed, and out of it.”
Beneath her cape, he palmed the softness of her breast, reveling in its delicate curve before dragging the pad of his thumb over its tip. Teasing. Delighting in a primitive satisfaction as a moan caught in her throat.
“I begin to think we might suit, yet I’ve still not been properly kissed.” Her hands pulled at the base of his skull, urging his face closer. “And, therefore, remain unconvinced.”
“Very well.” With that, he brought his lips down upon hers, pouring passion into his kiss as if his life depended upon her pleasure. And as flames ignited in his blood and rushed through his veins, he rather thought it might.
Chapter Ten
His kiss was everything and more.
Both hard and soft at once, both a rebuke and a caress.
Her fingers spiked into the soft waves of his hair, then tightened, crushing his mouth to hers, opening and welcoming the invasion of his most talented tongue as it drove the breath from her lungs and set her heart pounding.
The rigidly contained passion she’d glimpsed as they rode through the streets of London broke free and ignited, sparking desire wherever they touched, burning away any doubt that he found her less than desirable.
Only the cold stone at her back anchored her in the present. An existence altered in a heartbeat with the duke’s proposed solution. One which would soon present an officiant, a marriage license and witnesses—then demand an answer.
This had to stop before the last of their good sense burned away. Cait shoved hard at his shoulders.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, chests heaving, struggling to regain control. His eyes searched hers, betraying a note of vulnerability she suspected he rarely permitted anyone to glimpse.
“Very well,” she managed. “I’m persuaded of our physical compatibility.” Slowly, higher brain centers engaged, insisting there was more to discuss. “If we speak vows, you’ll honor yours?”
“I will,” he breathed. “And expect the same of you.”
“Agreed. But we both have pasts, complicated by secrets that are bound to tangle and tug.”
“Along with difficult and often irritating families.” He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“A multitude of problems will arise.” She turned her face into the roughness of h
is palm, wondering if she’d feel his touch across the whole of her body tonight. “It’s a lot to ask. Of both of us.”
“It is.”
Was that doubt that crept into his voice?
Footfalls sounded on the pavement. Their time alone together was almost at an end.
“Tagert!” her brother barked. “Step away from my sister.”
There was a clatter, the sound of umbrellas tossed aside as stomping feet approached.
“Do see reason, Mr. Black,” a higher, yet no less commanding, voice chided.
Jack winced. “Have you met the duchess?”
“No, but her reputation precedes her.” Her stomach quaked. “The repercussions of our night together must be numerous and far-reaching if the duchess herself is here to champion our marriage.”
“You can be certain at least a half-dozen motivations drive her interest.” His fingers brushed over the velvet edge of her sleeve. “The moment of truth has arrived. Will you marry me, Miss McCullough?”
There would be no going back. Only forward. For better or for worse, however long or short their time together.
“Yes, I accept.” She swallowed and attempted to lighten the moment. “A quick ceremony ensures your body will not be found floating, lifeless, in the Long Water while I live out my existence locked in a tall tower.”
Jack huffed a laugh. “Nonetheless, I expect your brother will make this difficult. Time to face the music.” In a single smooth motion, his arm wrapped about her waist and spun her about. “Perfect timing. Miss McCullough has just agreed to become my wife.”
“Absolutely not.” Logan scowled, trying to break free from the vice-like grip the duchess had upon his arm. An arm that ended in a tightly balled fist. He glared at the duke. “Is it my resignation you’re after?”
“Don’t be melodramatic,” the duke answered. “If Mr. Tagert does not marry her, it will ruin them both. Besides, your sister has all but buried my desk with missives imploring me to allow her to become a Queen’s agent. Marriage is a necessary first step.”
Beside her, Jack stiffened. His arm fell from her waist, and her stomach did a slow turn as a cool gust of air swirled between him. Had she intended to set out lures? Yes, of course. Not for him in particular. Many agents might have fit her needs, but she did have standards, ones he met and exceeded.
Why was this a problem? Would he back out? She hoped not. She clasped her hands and pressed them to her midsection, urging her stomach to settle. He was a man of reason. Any misunderstandings could be addressed later. Her course was decided and she refused to turn back. But she could not force Jack to her will.
The Duke of Avesbury placed his umbrella upon the floor beside his briefcase. “Lady Avesbury, allow me to present Miss McCullough, sister to our Mr. Black. Miss McCullough, my wife, the Duchess of Avesbury.”
Cait dropped a curtsy. “I’m honored.”
“As you should be,” the duchess said. “Shall we proceed?”
“No.” Logan barked. “I forbid it.”
“You cannot.” Cait scowled at her brother. “I’m of age.”
“Had I known why the duke insisted I bring you here—”
“Which is exactly why you were left uniformed, Mr. Black,” the duchess snapped.
“If you wish, you may excuse yourself from the proceedings,” the duke said. “Otherwise, stiff upper lip. We’ve other matters to attend to this day, and the newlyweds will have a train to catch.”
“Wait.” Jack held up a hand. “A train?”
She quite agreed with his objection. Trains led out of London.
“On a honeymoon,” the duchess stated. “To Menwith.”
Where on Earth was Menwith? Did it matter? It wasn’t in London, and they needed to be in London to hunt the not-a-vampire.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “You intend to send us to the Grand Menwith Hotel and Spa under the guise of a honeymoon? Now?”
Guise? The word burrowed beneath her skin in a most irritating manner.
“Exactly so,” the duke said.
“What of the investigation…” Cait trailed off. She wanted this case. Badly. And with the dark cloud that had descended upon Jack’s visage, she was no longer quite so eager to find herself alone with him. But one did not challenge a duke’s decree.
Yet Jack did just that. “What business has the Crown delving into my personal concerns?”
“It’s your own fault, Tagert, sending out personal inquiries by bird.” Black crossed his arms. “Ones which tapped into agency resources.” He tipped his head toward the duchess. “An intercepted skeet pigeon was brought to her attention.”
Confused, Cait asked, “Inquiries about?”
“My brother,” Jack answered without so much as a glance in her direction. “Concerning a worrisome business venture in North Yorkshire. One not linked to the attacks.”
“Or is it?” The duchess’ smile was long-suffering. “Finding it curious, I penned my own questions. That’s quite a sum that Lord Aubrey and the new Lord Saltwell invested in a friend’s venture. Everything appears above board with regards to the hotel and Turkish baths, but smiles grew strained and conversation terse when I inquired as to the precise nature of the special services offered by our good doctor, Mr. Oakes. All I could ascertain was that one patron was heard to joke about therapy being ‘a pain in the neck’.”
“A tenuous connection to the venomous creature at best,” Cait pointed out.
The duchess lifted a silk-gloved finger. “And the deceased Lord Saltwell recently took an extended trip north. Shortly thereafter, he met an untimely end at the hands—or fangs—of an as yet unidentified, bloodthirsty creature. In your family’s townhome.”
After a long few moments of stunned silence, Cait turned to Jack. “Is it possible your brother’s arrival at the pub was not unconnected with the venomous woman waiting in the carriage?”
Unwilling to concede the point, his mouth flattened into a grim, flat line. Finally, he gave a tight nod. “With Aubrey, anything is possible.”
“Well then,” Cait said, “the duchess has presented us with opportunity. A precipitous marriage followed by an immediate honeymoon signals romance, and we want to throw a wet blanket over any gossip, not fan the flames.” She laid a hand upon his arm. “Any possible connection merits further investigation, if only to allay your fears that he acted rashly by investing in this hotel and spa.”
The duchess gave her an approving nod. “Moreover, it’s the only lead we have.”
“Two birds, one stone,” the duke said, delighted with the plan.
“And when the creature strikes again?” Jack dug in.
“It’s nothing that Mr. Black can’t handle while you’re gone,” the duke said.
Logan bared his teeth in the facsimile of a smile. Already overworked, her marriage and sanctioned involvement in this investigation meant her brother was about to blow a gasket.
“Now that we’re agreed,” the duchess’ eyebrows arched, her expression making it clear that she would hear no further objections, “there is one final detail.”
Jack’s arm tightened beneath her palm.
“I’ve some expertise in the expectations of ton matrimony and my network is wide.” The duchess’ expression grew cynical. “Rumors suggest that the Menwith Spa provides treatments aimed at improving virility and, ultimately, fertility. Men will go to ridiculous lengths and costs to ensure their legacy. Use this detail to your advantage.”
Jack sputtered and Logan growled while an embarrassed heat prickled Cait’s skin.
She dropped her hand. “You want us to… We’re to…”
“Pose as newlyweds who wish to conceive as soon as possible,” the duchess finished. “Yes. Partake of the recommended therapy and discover—”
“Therapy? There’s nothing wrong with my—” Jack choked.
The duchess turned toward her husband with a frown. “I do not often find myself in the wrong, but these two seem ill-suited. For each other an
d the assignment. I rescind my earlier recommendation.” She released Logan’s arm and turned. “Dismiss them both and send Lord and Lady Thornton.”
“Absolutely not,” Jack said. “I refuse to pass this investigation to another. We’ll go.”
“Only if you are both agents in good standing.” The duke stood firm. “A category into which neither prospective bride nor groom currently fall as unmarried individuals. Shall we amend that?”
Jack huffed a breath. “Fine.”
Not a trace of his former enthusiasm for their nuptials remained, and the weight of his irritation dimmed her hopes for their future. She twisted her poison ring, conflicted. This might be a mistake, marriage for the sake of her career. For his.
But no other path forward within the Queen’s agents remained. If she refused, she would be sent away from the Lister Institute in shame. What then? A prosaic life. London or Glasgow, married or an old maid, she would find herself working, as she always had, in a laboratory alone.
The duke looked to Cait. “Train tickets and a room reservation have been made under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Tagert. No point in pseudonyms when we wish to establish the veracity of a love match. Many guests are of a high rank. You will be under scrutiny. Do you feel up to the role, Miss McCullough?”
Agents often assumed identities. Could she portray a young woman in love? Smiles, blushes, discreet touches. The occasional stolen kiss when prying eyes were upon them. Her gaze slid sideways and caught upon Jack’s own intent stare.
Dangerous eyes set in a face of hard planes that promised no leniency. Easy to see how he scared away young ladies. But beneath the wide breadth of his chest beat a romantic heart.
Foolishly, she still hoped to lay a claim upon his affections.
No, it would be no trial to publicly proclaim that Mr. Jack Tagert was a man worth having.
“I’m ready.”
“Excellent.” The duke waved his hand, beckoning the minister forward. “Let’s begin.”
Lady Avesbury produced a simple gold band from her reticule, and the minister cleared his throat, glanced down at the book in his hand, and began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together…”