Page 38 of To Love A Spy
Apparently she had touched a sore spot.
“Seeing as you don’t have a wife, you must seek sexual release elsewhere. Since you claim you have nocher amiein London, you must have a bawdy house that you favor,” she persisted, taking a rather perverse delight in seeing him squirm. “I’veheard that Cupid’s Cave is highly favored by gentlemen of theton.”
“My personal life is not a subject that I discuss with anyone,” he snapped.
“It doesn’t seem to me that you have much of one,” she replied. “From what we heard at school, you are married to your job. Why is that? Why have you never taken a wife?”
He rose abruptly. “You are out of line, Valencia. Way out of line. Kindly return to your own quarters.” His voice was carefully controlled. “I have work to do.”
She was about to retort when a spark of the fire flared up, throwing his profile in harsh contrast. She had never seen him look so tense, so tired—his face was drawn so taut it seemed his cheekbones might slice through the flesh.
Suddenly ashamed of herself and her childish taunts, she dropped her chin. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, and retreated without another word.
Bloody hell.Against his better judgment, Lynsley poured himself another brandy and downed it in one gulp. To his dismay, he saw his hands were shaking.
He must get a grip on his emotions. He had spent years perfecting his iron-fisted control over mind and body. Only to have it come perilously close to cracking into a thousand tiny shards at the touch of Valencia’s hands.
She had been naked beneath the sashed wrapper. The shape of her breasts had been tantalizing apparent though the cream-colored silk, and the lamplight had silhouetted the sinuous curves of her hips.
He pressed his brow to the cool marble of the mantelpiece, hoping to quell the rising heat in his blood. Fire crackled through his limbs, its burn far more potent than any Frenchbrandy. Had she any idea how mesmerizing she was with her ebony hair tumbled around her shoulders and her emerald eyes alight with anger.
And curse him for a damnable fool, he had reacted with pure, animal lust to her touch.
Admit it! whispered one of the demons who had taken possession of his reason. For one mad moment he had wondered what she would have said if he had suggested that she satisfy his primal needs.
Valencia, her glorious body twined with his.
The idea was . . .
Impossible.
Setting the glass aside, Lynsley stared at his palm. He had been gripping it so tightly that the pattern of the cut crystal was imprinted on his flesh. Damn the woman for having such a powerful effect on him. Ten years should have been long enough to drown out the spark of elemental attraction. But the thunder and lightning of that ill-fated Atlantic gale was nothing in comparison to the storm of emotion now raging in his head.
Duty must never give way to desire.It was one of the cardinal rules that the Academy drummed into its students. He had better heed his own teachings, else risk seeing this mission go up in smoke.
No, he would not—could not—fail. For her sake, as well as for that of his country. He couldn’t live with himself if Valencia were hurt again because of a weakness on his part.
Letting the dressing gown slide from his shoulders, Lynsley raised his arms over his head and arched back into a deep stretch.Balance.Yoga was all about keeping mind and body in perfect harmony. He must quell the dissonant voices that threatened his equilibrium. Control the strange impulses coursing through his flesh. And most of all, he must maintain a distance, a detachment from her.
The job was already far too personal.
The next evening saw the curtain rise on their first move to meet Pierre Rochambert. Arriving at theComedie Francaise, Valencia forgot for the moment her personal musing on the marquess. The stylish crowd and ornate architecture were fascinating, and like the thespians backstage, she felt a thrill of anticipation, now that the moment for playing her own role was at hand.
“The Emperor is a great lover of the theatre, Madame Daggett,” confided Madame Gervaise the wife of their host. “And he adores Corneille’s plays. I do hope you enjoy tonight’s performance ofCinna.”
“I am sure I shall be enthralled,” she replied.
“Monsieur Talma is our most brilliant actor, Madame Daggett,” added Madame Gervaise. “He is the Emperor’s favorite.”
“And so is Mademoiselle George,” added Mersault dryly. “Indeed, when she made her debut in Paris in ‘02, she was often called upon to give private performances backstage.”
Valencia raised her lorgnette and surveyed the surrounding theatre boxes, which were fast filling up. “And does the current Empress see that as a comedy or a tragedy?’
He gave a Gallic shrug. “Paris is not very prudish about such things,” he replied. “We French have a certain . . .joie de vivre.”
“Yes, I am beginning to see just how much people in Paris enjoy life.” Valencia slanted a look at Lynsley who appeared to be paying no attention to hertete a tetewith the minister.
“And what of you, Madame Daggett?” asked Mersault in a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you enjoy life?”
