Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (25 page)

“You will see. And ten!”

A small spark leapt to life at the point where the quill’s tip had broken. Jane winced as the spark became a black plume of smoke, and then a burst of light caused her to raise her arms to shield her eyes. The building shook, and she stumbled into Dominic, who caught her and pulled her down, covering her with his body. Despite the fact that she was shaking, she smiled at his chivalry. She spent far too much time among spies, and they were too focused on their missions to worry about antiquated notions such as chivalry.

When the floor stopped shaking and all was quiet, Dominic moved aside and pulled Jane to her feet. Q was smiling at them indulgently. Dominic did not look quite so amused. “What the hell was that?”

“Exploding quill. Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jane agreed.

“No. I was writing with that pen a moment ago. What if I’d pressed too hard and broken the tip?” He peered through the peephole, and Jane followed suit. Oh, dear. Not only the pen but the table had splintered into a thousand pieces, and more black marks marred the stone walls.

“I suppose we would have had to make a run for it,” Q said calmly. “That is why I used a delay feature.”

Dominic blinked at her. “You are mad.”

“I want one,” Jane said.

Dominic rounded on her. “You are both mad!”

“I thought you might,” Q said, ignoring Dominic and moving toward her shelves again.

“You cannot think to traipse about London with a pen that might explode at any moment.”

Jane smiled at him. “I promise to be careful.”

“And I have just the thing,” Q said, holding out a slim, rectangular wooden box. “This is a case to protect the pen.” She opened it, and another ordinary quill, this one made with a peacock feather, lay inside, cushioned by velvet one might see in a jeweler’s box.

“Perfect!” Jane said, taking the box and slipping it into her reticule.

“Yes,” Dominic drawled. “I feel safer already.”

“Now,” said Q, “off to the dormitories with you. I have more work to do.” She led Jane and Griffyn to the door, but when Griffyn stepped out, Q pulled Jane back inside. “Oh, I almost forgot! I made the repairs to your fan!” she said loudly—far louder than Jane’s proximity to her required.

“I will be just a moment,” Jane told Griffyn.

He shrugged. “I am more than happy to wait outside the workshop.”

Jane frowned at him, and when she turned back to the room, Q pushed the fan, which had a handle equipped with a magnifying glass, into her hand. “Thank you.”

“Do endeavor to be more careful with it,” Q said.

“Yes, the next time I’m forced to jump from a window onto an awning, I will be certain to protect the fan.”

Q nodded, looking thoughtful. “You’ve led a dangerous life, Jane.”

Jane opened her mouth then closed it again. She didn’t quite know how to respond to that statement. It was certainly true, but it was so true, that stating the fact seemed almost ridiculous.

“Do you ever wish there was something”—Q wiggled her fingers—“more in your life?”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Like morning calls and evenings at the theater?”

Q smiled at her. “No, not that sort of thing, but perhaps your betrothal is a good thing. There is more to life than the Barbican, Jane.”

Jane laughed. “So says the woman still here long past dark.”

But Q didn’t give her a rueful smile as Jane expected. “You are right, and I plan to make a change. I don’t want to end up alone. I don’t want to crawl into a cold bed the rest of my life with no one to hold me.”

Jane gaped at her. In all the time she’d known Q, the woman had never so much as mentioned a man. Now she wanted one in her bed?

“Do not look so shocked,” Q said with a laugh. “I am a woman.” She pointed at Jane. “And so are you. Don’t always subordinate the woman to the agent.” And with those words, Q retreated to her bomb room. Jane didn’t know if that was the term Q used, but it was certainly how she’d think of that small chamber henceforth.

Jane turned to step out into the hallway, but her feet didn’t move. She thought about Baron and his wife, and then Wolf and Saint. Did she have to choose between being an agent and being a woman? Being Bonde and being a wife? What would her life be in ten years or twenty, if she lived that long? Would she go home to an empty chamber, an empty bed? Would she never know the feel of a man’s body sleeping beside her, the sound of her child’s laughter?

There
is
more
to
life
than
the
Barbican.

But there hadn’t been more to her life up until this point. Her uncle had trained her as an agent from the very first. She’d never had any choice but to spy for the Barbican. No one had ever asked her if she wanted a normal life, if she wanted a husband and children. She hadn’t ever considered the option. She loved being an agent, but wouldn’t she love being a wife and mother too?

Jane moved into the doorway and peered into the corridor. A little way down the hall, Griffyn leaned negligently against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. Just looking at him made her heart beat faster, made her belly flutter. She wanted him. She’d not denied that, but up until this moment she had been unwilling to accept the truth of the situation they were in.

She was going to marry Dominic Griffyn. She could fight it. She could argue. But her uncle and his mother would have their way. Even Griffyn seemed resigned to their union. The longer she looked at him, the more she wondered why she fought it. Why not marry him? Why not take him to her bed, make lovely dark-eyed children with him? Was she going to risk her life for M forever? Didn’t she deserve love and affection?

Of course, the question remained as to whether Griffyn was willing or able to give her either, but she had faced worse odds before and come out ahead.

He opened his eyes then, and his gaze met hers. The look sent a slow spiral of heat through her, centering in her lower belly and pulsing. Oh, yes. She wanted him. And rules or not, she would have him.

She took a shaky breath and moved into the corridor. Griffyn said nothing, merely followed her. She could feel his presence at her back, feel his warmth in the cold stone passage. Finally, they reached the end of the hallway. She opened a door on the left, and lifting one of the candles burning in a sconce outside, brought it into the room. She made a quick study of the dormitory, noting the rows and rows of simple bed frames. Only one had any sort of mattress upon it. The others were bare, the lattice work of ropes that comprised their innards exposed.

She settled the candle into a sconce and eyed the one acceptable bed. It had been laid with white sheets and a plain white blanket. One flat pillow leaned against the open iron headboard. “It must be cleaning day,” Jane said, feeling him step into the room behind her. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with awareness of him. “The maids have taken all of the bedding out to beat and wash.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” he said.

“I believe that is my line,” she said. She turned and found him so close to her that she almost bumped into him. Despite his words a moment before, he didn’t move back. She wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, stroke his cheek, allow her fingers to wander from his jaw to the open collar of his lawn shirt. But she knew she could not touch him. It seemed so unfair, so impossibly cruel. In that moment, she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything—more than she even wanted to capture Foncé.

He shook his head, reading the look she hadn’t bothered to disguise. “Do not look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like you want to devour me.”

“You’re an attractive man, Mr. Griffyn. One could hardly blame me for wanting to devour you.”

“And you’re a beautiful woman, Miss Bonde—”

She raised her brows. “Do you really think so?”

He frowned at her. “You know you are.”

“It’s nice to be told,” she said, moving a little closer. “It’s arousing to know that the man I want, wants me.”

He shook his head, but he still didn’t back away. “This is not going to happen.”

“What if I agree to your rules?” Her gaze darted to the tail of his neckcloth dangling from his coat pocket. She reached for it. “What if I promise not to touch you?” She wound the cloth around her hands, binding them loosely. She saw his chest rise, saw him take a slow, shuddering breath.

“Those rules…” He had to pause and swallow. “They aren’t for you. You’re—” He gestured to her vaguely.

“Your betrothed?” she supplied. She moved closer, so if either of them breathed deeply they would brush against each other.

“Yes.”

She nodded. “When we marry, you will have to bed me at some point, Dominic.”

“
When
we marry?”

She shrugged. “I know when I’m defeated. Maybe I want to be defeated.” She rose on tiptoes until her lips brushed against his. “Kiss me, Dominic. Break your rules for me. Again.”

Fourteen

Bloody hell. How could he resist her when she was looking at him with those large blue eyes, when her lush body was all but pressed against him, when that enticing violet scent teased his nose and made him want to bury his face in her hair, her shoulder, the valley between her breasts? His gaze flicked to his cravat wound around her wrists. She could free herself from the bindings if she but maneuvered her wrists, and yet there was something impossibly erotic about having her bound and offering herself to him. Oh, yes, he wanted her. He wanted her like he’d never wanted any woman…and she
had
agreed to his rules.

But could he make her follow them? She was his future wife, not some barmaid. And if he did not ask her to follow his rules, would he be able to continue, no matter how much he desired her?

“Kiss me, Dominic,” she purred, and he gave in, pressing his lips so lightly to hers that neither of them was fully satisfied. He should stop this now. He needed more time to think, to plan how this marriage would work. But while his mind wanted time, his body wanted hers. He found his hands coming up to cup her face, slide in her hair as he lowered his lips to hers to take her completely. Their mouths met in a hot, passionate fusion of lips and tongues. She allowed him to ravish her mouth, and when he would withdraw, she caught his tongue and sucked it gently. His whole body exploded with fiery desire, and he had to break the kiss, step back, take a breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You didn’t like that?”

“I like it.” His voice was husky and low. He was staring at her, his gaze dipping to her bodice, his hands aching to take her breasts in his palms.

“And yet you pulled away.”

He nodded. “I want you. But on my terms.”

He thought she would walk away, would give him one of her perfect scowls, but she merely raised a brow. “Then take me. On your terms.”

He moved toward her, and she put her hands between them. “Be gentle with me, Dominic. I’ve never done this before.”

“Nor have I.” He put his hands on her waist, drawing her close, and felt her body go rigid.

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her face, saw her look of disbelief.

“I know you’ve been with women. I know your reputation.”

He nodded. “To hell with my reputation,” he said. “You’re the only woman I’ve kissed or allowed to kiss me. You’re the only woman I’ve considered…” He paused, not certain how to say this delicately.

But she understood him. “You’re a virgin?”

He wasn’t a virgin. No one who had done the things he’d done could be a virgin. But he’d never actually penetrated a woman, thrust himself inside her, made her his, and so he supposed what she said was true, to a point.

“Yes.”

“Then we will figure this out together.”

He refrained from telling her there was not much he needed to figure out. He knew what he wanted. He knew even without ever having had it. But when he would have reached for her again, she turned and presented him with her back. “Help me remove this gown.”

He tried to step back, but the wall was behind him. “Why?” Ridiculous question. He knew why. He wanted her out of the gown, wanted her bare before him.

She looked at him over her shoulder, her lashes lowered over eyes that were almost violet. “It’s terribly uncomfortable. The pins are sticking me,” she lied.

“We cannot have that.” He motioned for her to turn around again, and she complied without saying anything further. He had no idea how women’s garments worked. He reached for the back of her gown and immediately hesitated. He saw no buttons or ties. How was the thing fastened together?

“You have to remove the pins,” she said.

“I know.” Pins, right. But where were the dashed pins? He narrowed his eyes at the thin line of gold. Ah. Not stitches. Those were the pins. He reached for one and plucked it out. The gown remained stubbornly closed. He plucked another out and another, revealing the swath of pale skin at the base of her neck. Dominic took a deep breath and tried not to notice how soft it looked, tried not to imagine how she would shiver if he pressed his lips to it. He needed time to think. It seemed everything happened too quickly. He wanted to bed her, but what then? Could he take her without the nightmares grasping him in their clutches and taking hold with a vengeance?