Page 81 of Never a Bride
“I’ve already tried, and it seems impossible. All we can do is wait until they confront us.”
“Or kill us!”
“If that’s what they wanted, they’d have done it by now. They want something of me.” Hellfire, she was angry, not even afraid.
But he was. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid—because he’d put her in danger. He’d ignored the threats, pretended that these foolish criminals weren’t capable of carrying out their promises. How would he live with himself if she came to harm because of him?
Huddled in her corner, Emmeline tried not to glare at Alex. He was right—there was no sense in beating futilely at the coach, though the impulse to do just that almost had her squirming.
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.”
