Page 12 of To Love A Spy
But then, perhaps she did have a husband and a gaggle of children sitting in the next room. He knew nothing about her life since that stormy afternoon at the Academy when she had refused a desk assignment and handed in her resignation.
Bloody hell.He had bungled that meeting badly. He should have sensed her vulnerability and done better at softening the blow. It was yet another shortcoming, one he had recognized only too late.
He had tried to track her down, but ironically, her training had allowed her to disappear without a trace.
“Do you live here alone?” Lynsley finally asked. A quick glance around the small bedchamber revealed nothing to indicate the presence of a man in her life.
“That is really no concern of yours, Lord Lynsley,” she replied coolly.
“ I was not trying to pry, Valencia. I merely wish to know that you are . . . well.”
“I don’t need a man to take care of me.” Her chin took on a martial jut. “Wasn’t that one of the very first lessons you had drummed into us at the Academy?”
Heaving a small sigh, the marquess abandoned any further attempt to make small talk. He didn’t have the strength toengage in a bout of verbal fencing. His mind was still muzzy, his body weakened by surging shivers of hot and cold.
Glass clinked against metal. “I’ve mixed a draught to bring down the fever,” she said. “You should try and get some rest.”
She was right.He could not afford any weakness of the flesh—or feelings—to upset his plans. Swallowing the medicine in silence, he let himself drift into sleep. On waking, he must be ready to move on.
Valencia reached out to smooth the tangled hair from the marquess’s brow. His flesh was still a touch feverish, but the labored rasp had eased from his breathing. It was a good sign. Inflammation of the lungs was a real danger after such an ordeal.
Her hand lingered for a moment, tracing the jut of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw . . .
She drew her fingers away as if burned and set to making up a cold compress. She wouldnotallow his reappearance in her life, however shocking, to upset her hard-won peace of mind. Fate had thrown them together.
But thankfully, Duty would quickly draw them apart.
Duty.As she wrung out the felt and folded it over his forehead, she couldn’t help wondering what had brought him to be sailing the Channel in a raging gale. Not a holiday, that was for sure. The marquess was all business and no pleasure.
Finished with the task, Valencia took up the candle and withdrew from the darkened bedchamber. The parlor was filled with the pale, pearlescent light of dawn, but rather than lighten her spirits, she found herself feeling as if a black cloud was hanging over her head.
Bloody hell.She looked around the snug cottage. Whitewashed walls, cheery chintzes, soft wool rugs, woodenbeams polished to the patina of aged sherry—she had painstakingly crafted every detail. It was a cozy, comfortable space. It was her world, her home. She wouldnotlet the Marquess of Lynsley darken the one place she felt safe.
Wandering into the kitchen, she lit the stove and set the kettle on the hob.Tea. Valencia allowed a reluctant smile. Along with Mrs. Merlin’s famed strawberry tarts, it was served to sooth taut nerves during critical meetings at the Academy. The headmistress claimed that sustenance helped one to think clearly in times of stress.
She took a seat by the window and sipped the strong, fragrant brew. Perhaps there was some measure of truth in the idea. Somehow, she did feel marginally more relaxed. The warmth of her own hand-picked pottery, the smell of fresh-cut herbs from her garden hanging over the work table, the soft whistling of the still-boiling water was comforting.
Lord Lynsley had asked obliquely about a husband. Well, she didn’t need a man in her life to be happy. Her chin rose a fraction. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been asked. A number of proposals had come her way. Despite her physical flaw, the opposite sex still seemed to find her . . . attractive.
Catching a glimpse of her own reflection in the leaded glass, she studied her features. To her own eye, her mouth was a little too wide, her nose a trifle too long for true beauty. But men seemed to find the thick, curling tumble of her tresses alluring, even though their color was black as a raven’s wing, rather than a sweet, shimmering gold.
Light and dark.
She was after all, a creature of shadows.
Perhaps that was why she had chosen to live alone. Oh, there had been the occasional discreet affairs. Trained in the swashbuckling skills of a man’s world, she saw no reason whyshe couldn’t play by the same rules as they did. But she had never let anyone come too close.
And that wasn’t about to change.
Swirling the dregs of her drink, Valencia set the cup aside. She didn’t need a gypsy’s skill at reading tea leaves to predict that the Marquess of Lynsley would soon be just another memory.
Lynsley awoke feeling ready to analyze the situation with some measure of his usual clear-headed logic. It had been shock as well as exhaustion that had dulled his wits on first regaining consciousness from his watery ordeal. Seeing Valencia had been like seeing a ghost of his past shortcomings.
Or sins.
God only knew if he had been right to ask so much of the young orphan girls whom he chose for admission into Mrs. Merlin’s Academy.
But any thought of penance would have to be put off until some later time.
