Page 99 of To Love A Spy
But no matter how cleverly he twisted and turned, there was no getting around the fact that his actions last night had been terribly selfish.
What did Valencia think of their lovemaking?
The Academy—hisAcademy—taught the girls to view sex dispassionately. A basic human need, like eating and sleeping. Satisfying such urges had nothing to do with right or wrong—it was simply a fact of life. Had she bedded him in body only?
His jaw clenched, so hard he feared his teeth might crack.
There was no denying the chemistry between them. It was explosive—a fiery force far more powerful than the mad scientist’s secret weapon. And like those unquenchable tongues of flame, the conflagration was impossible to extinguish, now that the elements had been unlocked from their containers and stirred together.
Its potent passion had left him singed to the very core.
But they had never talked about their feelings. He had discouraged any discussion of emotion.One must be detached and dispassionate during a mission.Now his own words were coming back to haunt him.
“Mr. Bingham?” A gravelly voice dragged him back to the moment
Lynsley turned, feeling even more like a stranger in his own skin.
The Lord of Lies.He forced a poker face to mask his inner turmoil. “Yes. I’m Bingham.”
“Samuels. Quartermaster of the brig Sea Witch.” The sailor wasted no time in pleasantries. “Please come along with me. We’ll be ready to cast off within a quarter hour.” He glanced at the two valises in Lynsley’s hand. “Have you and your wife any other baggage?”
“No. The rest of our things will be shipped later,” replied the marquess. In truth, the fancy gowns and elegant evening clothes would likely end up among the spoils of war, unless the American delegation managed to reclaim Tobias Daggett’s possessions. A pity—Valencia had looked beautiful in the Parisian satins and silks that he had purchased.
“Good. We are crowded enough with cargo as it is,” said Samuels. “This way.”
Lynsley gestured for Valencia to go first. He brought up the rear as they cut through the tangle of cordage and fishing nets lining the docks, trying not to watch the sway of her hips. Trying notto imagine what lay beneath the layers of wool and lace. Impossible. The picture of her naked body would be indelibly imprinted in his mind’s eye forever.
“Mr. Bingham.” The captain of the brig stood at the head of the gangplank, consulting the manifest sheet. “We were beginning to wonder whether we would have to sail without you.” A curt nod acknowledged Valencia. “Ma’am. I regret to say that your quarters are rather cramped. We are not in the habit of taking passengers.”
“Thank you for making an exception,” she replied. “Please don’t apologize. We are quite used to traveling under adverse conditions.”
“Excellent.” The captain eyed the pennant flapping atop the mizzen mast. “The wind is rising. It’s best you go below while we get the ship underway.”
Below.Locked in a dark, dank cubbyhole deep in the bowels of the ship. Lynsley felt his lips twitch in irony as he descended the ladder. The situation couldn’t be more apt, considering his current state of mind.
Valencia watched Lynsley light the binnacled lamp and open his document case. The papers, already damp with salt, shuffled with a limp whisper. He placed pen and ink beside them on the narrow chart table.
“Whitehall will want a full report,” he murmured. “Though I’ll likely be accused of writing a horrid novel.”
“I doubt anyone would dare accuse you of any such flight of fancy.” She meant to use humor to defuse the tension in the air. But a strange, smoldering spark seemed to darken his eyes. A frown furrowed his brow as he looked down and began to sharpen his quill.
Valencia took a book from her reticule—she had purchased a copy ofAesop’s Fablesduring the journey to the coast—and opened the pages. Her eyes, however, kept straying from the printing to his profile. It was hard to read his expression in the oily light. That solemn, serious Sphinx face. An outward calm etched in stone.
Hell.She knew he was not impervious to feelings. Thomas was a passionate man, fiercely tender, sweetly sensual, when he allowed his true self to show.
Yet he seemed almost embarrassed since waking. Had her own wild need shocked him. Disgusted him? How else to explain his oblique gaze. Why, he hadn’t yet looked her full in the face.
She bit back an exasperated sigh. As they had passed by the harbor’s edge, low tide had revealed a multitude of mollusks in the mud. Lynsley reminded her of a hermit crab, scuttling into the recesses of his shell.
A creature wholly unto itself.
Footsteps pounded across the deck overhead. Canvas cracked, sharp as the sound of cannonfire, and the hull lurched forward as the crew cast off the mooring lines. The final leg of the journey would last just a few more hours. The ship would divert to Dover, and from there, Lynsley would head to London. While she would seek passage back to the isle of Sark.
They both should feel a sense of great satisfaction. The job was done.
She sat in shadowed silence, the scratch of Lynsley’s pen and the whisper of her pages the only stirring between them. Serpentine swirls of smoke clouded the airless cabin. A damp chill curled up from the bilge.
Her throat suddenly constricted, and she felt as if she couldn’t breath.
