Page 85 of Must Love Scoundrels
Lucy suddenly feltvery, very naked. “Might I just...” She waved at her clothing in a pile on the floor.
Duncan, gentleman that he was, nodded and turned his back. She pulled on the breeches. “I’m glad you told me.” She fastened the garment at the waist. “I can’t say I understand. I do care about you, Duncan. Love is...” She paused and pulled her shirt over her head. “I would say love is just a word, but I’ve seen my parents. What they have is not just a word.” She turned to look at him, his straight back and stiff shoulders. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that for anyone.”
“I never thought I would. All I wanted was to become a Saboteur. You were not part of the plan.”
“You can turn around now,” Lucy said. She understood what he meant. It seemed her entire life, all she focused on was her goal. First, she worked hard to master the skills and education her parents said every agent needed. Then she had to prove herself at the Home Office. Once Uncle Winn invited her to train as a Royal Saboteur, she had to prove herself there. She practically crawled into bed and slept like the dead every night for the first six months of her training. There wasn’t time or energy left for considering her needs or desires. And even when she had begun to adjust and had the mental capacity to think about more than just how much her muscles ached, she didn’t think about love. If she thought of a man, she imagined being touched and kissed. She didn’t need to be loved.
Did she?
Regardless, Duncandidneed to be loved. Or, at least, he wanted to be. Too bad, as she was really enjoying their physical connection. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She relished nothing more than a challenge, and he challenged her more than any man—any person—ever had. She should have anticipated that just as he challenged her in the classroom and the training field, he would challenge her in bed.
Or, rather, against a wall.
That was one challenge she would miss.
“Do you think I’m a fool?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Perhaps he felt like a fool. It must be strange to want something that, for so long, he had sought to avoid.
“No.” She pushed her hair off her shoulders and secured it with a ribbon. “I think you are a man who knows what you want and won’t settle for less. I hope you find it.” She smiled. “Do you think we can stay friends?”
He looked up at her from under his lashes. “Are you friends with other former lovers?”
“Yes,” she said. “Or at least we are cordial.”
“I’m not sure I can promise that.”
She felt a pang of something deep in her chest. Regret? Sadness? She pushed it away. “We have a mission,” she said. “We can work together for that.”
“Absolutely.” He peered outside, obviously trying to judge the time. “You still have time for that nap, if you want it.”
“I’m not tired.” She sat in a chair and pulled her boots on. “You go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m not tired either.”
“Well, then.” She stood, stamped her feet on the floor, and went to the lamp. “Why don’t we find an ambush spot and get cozy?”
***
DUNCAN PICKED THE PERFECTspot. They’d walked along the tree-lined drive to Pembroke Lodge for what seemed half the night. It was past dawn by the time they settled down behind a slight rise. She and Duncan lay on their bellies at the top of it and stared down the pathway, where any conveyance from London would travel to reach the lodge. The scratchy foliage at the top of the rise provided cover, as did the trees just behind them. Once the coach they waited on passed, they could run alongside it, using the trees for cover.
They took turns keeping watch, but no coach passed. After the sun rose, Lucy squinted at the tree she lay under. Then she climbed to her feet, caught one of the branches, and untied a withered piece of paper. There were small slips of paper tied with twine or ribbons all over the tree branches and tucked into a hollow in the trunk. She stared at the slip of paper, but the paper had become wet in a rainstorm or from the overnight dew, and the ink had run.
She retied the paper to the branch and reached into the hollow. The paper inside was more protected from the weather and she removed a dry roll of paper with a blue ribbon around it. To her surprise, the paper contained not words but a pencil sketch of a young woman. Lucy didn’t recognize her, which wasn’t surprising as the sketch was quite rudimentary. She replaced it and extracted another. This one had two words:Mac Robie. Or perhaps that was one word?
“I see you’ve found the wishing tree,” Duncan said, coming up behind her.
She looked up at the large tree, its branches swaying in the late morning breeze. The paper rustled against the leaves and the ribbons fluttered. “Is that what this is?”
“It must be. I heard the other servants talk about it. They write their wishes on scraps of paper, roll them up, and tie them to the branches or place them in the hollow. If a wish is blown away, it’s considered good luck and more likely to come true.”
Lucy handed him the paper she’d been holding. “Shall I release this one?”
He peeled it open and smiled. “One of the girls must have a soft spot for the gardener.”
“Is his name Mac Robie?”
“MacRobie is his surname.” He reached above her and removed a paper she couldn’t have reached. It made a rustling sound as he untied it, having been recently placed. “A drawing.” He showed her the sketch of a man.
“That isn’t bad,” she said. “I found one of a woman before.”
