Page 95 of To Love A Spy
“Ah. Yes, of course, you are right.” Auberville, hurried ahead and opened the carriage door. “Bon voyage,” he murmured, helping them up the iron rungs. “Do put in a good word for me in Washington.”
Lynsley waved through the glass, then leaned back against the squabs and exhaled a long breath. It ended in a wry chuckle. “I do hope that Dieppe has a decent wine merchant.”
“Wine?” Valencia grimaced. “The onlyportI wish to see is Dover.”
His lips quirked. “I’ll drink to that. But as we leave France, I should like to send President Madison and his cabinet a case of the finest French champagne.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lynsley slipped through the door and shook the raindrops from his wide-brimmed hat.
“Any luck?” asked Valencia as she refastened the bolt.
“Yes, the merchant ship was there, just as I arranged with Jalet, and the captain was expecting us,” he answered. “We sail for England on the morning tide.”
“That is good news.” She smiled, but the warmth did not quite reach her eyes.
Surely it was just a quirk of the candlelight, thought Lynsley as he shrugged off his caped overcoat. And yet, the snap of the wet wool stirred a strange mizzle between them. It felt as if a heaviness dampened the air.
They were both weary, he reminded himself. And the end of a mission was always bittersweet.
But as he hung the garment by the door, the chill of the rain clung to his palms. Perhaps she wished to have separate rooms. They would, after all, have to get used to sleeping alone.
Lynsley turned.. “Would you prefer your own quarters?—”
Her lips touched his, stilling his halting words.
Closing his eyes, he drew her into his arms as reason gave way to need. A last burst of passion, sparked by desperation. Alast flare of fire before their relationship burned down to cold ashes.
They were both old enough to know that life did not have fairy tale endings. One must grasp at happiness and hold on for dear life. It was all too fleeting. Like wind and sunlight and the very air that they breathed.
“Val,” he murmured, deepening his kiss, savoring the sweetness as if it would have to last a lifetime.
A last wild intoxication before going back to his sober self.
She was exploring his body with the same desperate need. His cravat fell to the floor as the fastenings of his shirt yielded to her roving hands.
Steel and silk. He had never imagined a woman could be both hard and soft. The contrast, the contradiction was wildly sensual.
This valiant Valkyrie—a battle-hardened beauty, forged of fire and flame-gold honor. Oh, how he was in awe of her strength, her passions.
As for his own passions, he had surrendered any will to resist this temptation. Was it wrong? He had a lifetime to meditate his sins, if sin it was. Right now, the Devil himself could not pull him away.
“Val.”
She tugged at the tabs of his trousers, and then her dressing gown slipped from her shoulders, slithering to the floor in a whisper of silk. An instant later his shirt followed suit.
He kicked off one shoe, then the other.
Thump, thump.As they bounced off the door, Valencia laughed, a low, husky sound that set his heart to skittering against his ribcage.
His trousers somehow caught on the tip of the bedpost, a flag draped in silent surrender of sanity.
Reason could go to hell.
They were now both nearly naked and stumbling for the bed.
Desperate desire sizzled through his blood. Be damned with Reason. He could spend the rest of his life devoted to discipline and detachment. But for this moment . . .
