Page 88 of His Scandal
But how could he be so relaxed? Why did that damnable smile never leave his face?
And why did he have to keep watching her from beneath lowered eyelids, making her forget the danger, forget everything but his mouth on hers, his hands touching her, cupping her—
She had to distract herself. “Alex, the noise has died away, so we must have left London.”
“I know. We can only wait and see what their intentions are.”
“Then…distract me!”
He was off his bench and over her so fast that she gave a little gasp, even as she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Not like that!”
He leaned even harder against her, his body overwhelming, the heat in his eyes stunning her. They were in horrible danger, and the first thing he thought about was…that?
“Then shall I compose poetry for you, fair Emmeline?” he murmured, his lips so close to her upturned face. “I’m sure I could think of something for the occasion. We could call it ‘The Seduction of Emmeline.’”
“Alex!”
“‘A proud, noble beauty, above reproach; lost her innocence while traveling in a—’”
“Stop!” she cried. In a weak voice, she continued, “Tell me…tell me about when your brother was spying against Spain.”
He blinked, and though he didn’t move, she could sense everything freezing inside him. After a moment, he gave her a bland smile and slid back onto his bench. His ability to control his expression always amazed her.
“So you’ve been talking to people about me.”
“Not deliberately. I overheard a conversation.”
“I can only imagine,” he said dryly. “How long have you known?”
“A fortnight.”
He said softly, “Why didn’t you say something before now?”
She felt another dreaded blush steal over her. “If you’ll remember, whenever we’ve been alone, you haven’t given me much chance to…talk.”
His narrowed gaze roamed down her body, and she wished she had not reminded him.
Quickly, she said, “But I’d like to talk now.”
“Very well. Ask your questions.”
“I don’t have any questions yet, because I don’t know what happened. Won’t you tell me?”
She held her breath, waiting, until he finally nodded.
“It is quite simple, really. The Queen asked my brother to run off to Spain and pose as a Spaniard, all for the sake of our good England. And I was to stay behind, posing as Spencer, though occasionally I came to town as myself just for appearances. I was much better suited to playing the nobleman than the spy; my command of the Spanish language would fool no one, you see.”
Emmeline watched him, barely daring to breathe, knowing that even as he made light of his situation, there was a lingering bitterness he thought hidden from her. “Did the plan succeed?”
“Oh yes, Spencer returned quite the hero, England was saved, and I was released from the drudgery of estate management.”
“Perhaps your brother had all the glory, but your efforts were just as noble,” she said softly.
He laughed. “Emmeline, how kind you are, but the danger was all Spencer’s. I had nothing more dangerous than three mistresses and too much money to spend.”
She ignored her painful spasm of jealousy. “But without you, Spencer couldn’t have succeeded as a spy for so long. It was over a year, wasn’t it? Questions would have been asked, threatening his life. You prevented that.”
