Page 109 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
“No, damn it, I fear I am not. The question is: Are you?”
For her answer she cupped her hands behind his head, twining her fingers in the velvety masses of his dark hair, pulling him down to touch her lips to his. It took him less than a heartbeat to respond.
“Belle.” His mouth crushed hers in a searing embrace. Holding her close, he breathed a feverish trail of kisses against her hair, his voice gone husky with passion. “You won’t regret this choice, I promise. If it is the respectable life you want, I will find a way to get it for you, the blasted ivy-covered cottage and all. I can seek a post in government, make up the quarrel with my father?—”
Belle halted this rash flow of pledges with another fervent kiss. She gazed up at him with tender amusement. “No, Mr. Carrington. Let us take life as we have always done. One day at a time.”
As he cradled her close, she cried. “Sinclair, Sinclair, I love you so. I was a fool not to have realized it sooner.”
“Yes, you were, weren’t you?” He swooped her up to carry her to bed, knocking the trunk and its contents heedlessly to the floor.
They tumbled down upon the mattress, longing only to become lost in each other’s embrace, when they were rudely jarred by a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Sinclair growled.
“The porter, sir. I just called to tell you that there is a gentleman below asking for you. A Mr. Crawley.”
“Crawley? What the deuce does he want?”
Belle groaned. “The wretched man must have followed me here after all.” She called out to the porter. “Tell him Mr. Carrington is not at home.”
As the footsteps retreated, Belle scrambled from the bed and began to close the shutters.
Sinclair trailed after her, looking bewildered. “Angel, what on earth is this all about?”
“Crawley has become the new head of the society. He has some infernal mission he is trying to get us to undertake.”
Belle paused in the act of bolting the last shutter to peer anxiously into the street below. “Good. He’s leaving.”
Sinclair craned his neck, looking over her shoulder. As they watched Crawley attempt to summon a hackney cab, Sinclair said, “Of course, we have not the slightest interest in knowing what it is all about.”
“Not the slightest,” Belle said firmly. She started to close the shutter, but she couldn’t help herself. She stole one more speculative glance at Crawley. She caught Sinclair doing the same.
Their eyes met in guilty fashion and both erupted into laughter. Without another word, Sinclair tugged her by her hand, and tossed her back upon the bed. His lean hard frame closed over her as he claimed her mouth with the tender fury of his kiss.
No, Belle thought, feeling the fires stir between them. She and Sinclair had not the slightest interest in discovering what Crawley wanted.
At least not until tomorrow.
