Page 16 of To Love A Spy
“If there are no further questions, sir, I will go find you something to wear.” Valencia moved to the doorway and turned for her own rooms. “The kitchen is to the right, and at the end of the passageway.”
Damn the man, she fumed as she threw open the truck and began to rummage through the cast-off garments. Somehow, she always felt like a scruffy schoolgirl in his presence. Awkward and unsure, while he always appeared so calm and in command.
Of course the dratted man had an air of aristocratic authority about him. He was a privileged patrician, born to a life of wealth and rank. While she was an orphan, a lone child forced to grow up fast in the muck and violence of the stews of St. Giles.
She paused for a moment, recalling that fateful encounter. Their paths had crossed when she had tried to pick his pocket. She had nearly succeeded—she was one of the most skilled dippers in the area, despite her tender age—but at the last moment the marquess had caught her hand. She had fought like the very devil to free herself from his grip. Even then, she had been very good with a blade. Lynsley still bore the traces of her wrath on his knuckles. Yet rather than haul her off to the nearest magistrate, he offered her a place in a newly formed school with an odd-sounding name.
Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies. She hadn’t had any idea what an Academy was, but any place seemed better than the filth and poverty of the London slums. Besides, she had always had an adventurous streak. And the elegant gentleman had a nice smile and kindly blue eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul.
Valencia bit her lip. She must have been ten or eleven at the time, though her true age was anyone’s guess. Now she had just turned one and thirty.A woman of the world.On countless occasions, she had proven herself to be resilient, resourceful and tougher than Toledo steel.
So why were her hands trembling as she smoothed the wrinkles from a pair of rough wool pants? Merlins were meant to be fearless. And she was said to have been the most fearless of them all.
“I havenotlost my nerve,” she whispered to herself. She had failed once to prove her mettle. It wouldn’t happen again.
Grabbing up a thick knitted jumper and work shoes to go along with the trousers, Valencia slammed the trunk shut. From now on, she would keep any misgivings locked away.
It was time to fly.
The slate tiles were chill against his bare feet as he shuffled down the hallway. Lynsley shivered slightly, acutely aware that beneath the borrowed blanket and nightshirt he was wearing only his drawers. No wonder he felt so strangely vulnerable. So stripped of all his defenses.
Bloody hell.Had he made yet another mistake with her? She had suffered enough on account of his miscalculations. He had no right to draw her back into danger. Duty? It was too easy an excuse. The real reason was far more complex, but damn if he could explain it, even to himself.
Taking up the flint and steel, Lynsley struck a spark to the lone taper by the pantry and watched a flame flicker into life. He ought to have doused her demand on the spot. Instead he had been oddly indecisive—something quite out of character for him.
But then, he hadn’t been himself lately.
Grimacing, Lynsley opened the larder. There was no going back—the deal was done. He would just have to make the best of it.
And try to make sure that neither of them got burned to a crisp.
“You have a nice nest,” said Lynsley as she entered the kitchen. He had stirred the coals to life in the stove and set a kettle on the hob.
“It has none of the elegant amenities of your mansion on Grosvenor Square, milord.” Even to her own ears, the reply sounded waspish. “And as you see, the service is sadly lacking.”
The marquess smiled and continued to cut the meat into neat slices. “It is my sister who lives in the family townhouse. I prefer smaller quarters in a less visible part of Town.”
“You have a sister?”
His brow quirked. “I am human. Or like Jove, did you think I had stepped fully formed from Zeus’s forehead?”
“I—I never thought . . . that is, I hadn’t ever imagined you with family,” she stammered. To cover her confusion, she quickly asked, “What of you, sir—are you married?”
“No,” he answered softly.
“Why not?” she pressed. “As an exalted member of the nobility, aren’t you expected to set up a nursery and sire an heir?”
He deflected the question with a shrug. “I have a younger brother who has three lively boys. I should not be ashamed to pass on the title to one of them.”
“Surely there is acher amitucked away in a snug little house on the outskirts of Mayfair.” Valencia knew she was being impertinent, but didn’t care.
Lynsley smiled. “My work is a hard enough mistress.”
The curl of his mouth sent a strange little shiver skating along her spine.
His face was leaner than it has been ten years ago, and a crinkling of fine lines was etched around his eyes. There was, however, the same piercing intensity to their ice blue color. Cool and clear as faceted gemstones.
Oddly enough it was now a rush of heat prickling along her flesh.
