Page 13 of How to Seduce a Viscount
‘It’s a large territory.’ She said as she shrugged, brushing off the reference. She’d said too much. ‘One person could not possibly cover it all.’ Although she had. She was unaware of any other network agents being down there.
He was looking at her intently, admiration in his gaze. Warmth unfurled in her belly at his regard.
‘I suppose we have you to thank too, then, for those reports. They were critical in being able to raise the arms and funds that were sent in July.’
She’d impressed him. She seldom got the chance to impress anyone. The problem with being a covert operative was that no one was supposed to know what you did. If people knew—well, then that meant you’d messed up and you were probably dead. Unlike Luce. He didn’t have that particular level of anonymity. In their circles, he was a known entity.
He turned to her, his gaze lingering on her face, his eyes gentle in their contemplation. ‘I might have solved the code, but it wouldn’t have happened without you. Not just because you said something at supper that helped generate a key idea.Yourisked your life to bring the code to me. The movement is in your debt.’ He skimmed the curve of her jaw with the back of his hand. A warm thrill moved through her as she intuitively felt the conversation changing, the atmosphere around them shifting. This was no longer about Greek independence. This was about them and the attraction that had been brewing. ‘You’re an incredible woman, Wren Audley.’
There was an invitation in his words and echoed in his touch. An invitation brought on perhaps by the excitement of breaking the code and the lateness of the hour. An invitation that she ought not accept.
He was a well-known rake. This would not be a mere kiss, at least not for her. And yet this kiss, and the potential affair that waited beyond it, would be over before they’d begun. It would be short-lived and it would end when she left in the very near future. Later, when he learned her secret, he would regret it.
They were both experienced masters in the art of affairs. One small step backwards would signal a quiet decline of the invitation and nothing ever needed to be said about it. It was what ought to be done. But she did not step back. She stepped instead into his touch. Her cheek nuzzled his hand where his palm cupped it.
‘And you are an extraordinary man.’
‘Think what we could be together.’
He murmured the potent seduction. His mouth had hers, then, in a tender capture of lips that caressed and cajoled and she complied fully, opening her mouth to him with a contented sigh. How wondrous to be kissed by a man who turned the meeting of mouths into a slow, sensual journey as if he had all the time in the world, as if the kiss was an end within itself and not a mere formality in preface of things to come. She tasted the tannins of dinner’s wine on his tongue, tangled her own with his in a languorous exploration.
It was a pleasant discovery to find that Luce Parkhurst was a full-bodied kisser. A man who kissed with his mouth, his hands, the whole length of him. And what a delightful length it was. He was warm and hard against her. She could not pretend indifference. Her own body thrilled at being surrounded by his strength, by the confident proof of the desire he seemed more than willing to satisfy with a kiss for now and a promise of more for later. She breathed against his mouth, a sigh of pleasure escaping her even as her own hunger ratcheted. Perhaps it would be she who escalated the kiss and perhaps that was what he intended. A woman would be safe with him, as a man, asa lover, and the pleasure would be divine if she committed. Commitment seemed inevitable but it was not going to be decided tonight in the glorious heat of the moment.
‘It’s late. We should both get some sleep,’ he murmured at her neck and stepped back, letting his gaze linger, dark with want, on her face as if to assure her stepping away had been difficult. ‘I need to draft a letter to Grandfather before I retire. The mail coach will still be able to run in this weather, even if a single messenger on horseback cannot, and the coach leaves tomorrow from the village. I will go into Little Albury in the morning to see it sent. If you feel up to a trip you are welcome to come. If not, if there’s anything you need, make me a list and I’ll get it.’
‘I’ll go with you.’ She smiled, answering his gaze with her own unspoken message of a promise forlater.Apparently, her body and mind had already decided. She took his hand in a small squeeze. ‘Goodnight, Luce.’
‘Goodnight, Wren.’ It was all so civilised one would never guess what had been decided in the space of a glance. Somewhere between cottage pie and maps of Greece, they’d become a team in more ways than one tonight.
For better or worse, Wren thought as she prepared for bed. An affair with Luce Parkhurst—even a short one—as theirs would be, came with more strings attached than usual and at a time when she couldn’t affordanystrings let alone several. She couldn’t even tell him about the rest of her mission. She pulled on her borrowed nightshirt, breathing in the smell of him, her body still echoing with the feel of his touch, of his mouth. It was hard to vanish if one had strings. Strings made knots. Strings pulled one back to their past. Strings could lead people to her. In short, strings were dangerous. Not just to her, but also to those tied to her. He was not the only one who struggled with loyalty dilemmas. The longer she stayed here, the harder it was to choose the earl over Luce. Another sign it was time to go.
Wren slipped beneath the covers and turned down the light. But sleep didn’t come immediately. Normally, her mind was busy with thoughts of a mission, of the information she’d gathered and there’d been plenty of that she could mull over from tonight. But at present, her traitorous mind was too busy reliving personal moments instead. That kiss, his mouth on hers. Imagining him in the warmth of the library, sitting at the table, his glasses sliding down his nose and reaching up every so often to push his hair back as he penned a letter to the earl. Would it be hard for him to write? Was he distracted, too? Would he be thinking of her? Or was he urbane enough, rake that he was, to set aside the episode and get back to work as if that kiss had not been of any particular moment?
Once, she would have been able to do just that. But not with him. Not with that kiss. She’d felt it to her toes and it would not soon be forgotten even if she chose not to repeat it. But heaven help her, it seemed likely she would.
Good God. He’d kissed Wren Audley, his grandfather’s agent. That was not a mere mixing of business and pleasure, it was an absoluteintegrationof them. He’d kissed women for business before. Seduction, after all, was a powerful tool in retrieving information. Never had he kissed a woman for business and pleasure all at once. He’d learned from Kieran’s mistake—a mistake that had nearly cost his brother his life. Kieran bore a scar near his liver as a reminder. When on the job, kisses were for business only.
But Wren Audley was not merely business. It had been personal with her since she’d landed on his doorstep. She’d been a life to save. He supposed battling for her life, stitching the very fabric of her life back together had escalated his sense of connection to her. Perhaps her beauty had played a part in thatas well. It certainly had invoked pathos on his part. Beautiful things were rare in this world and ought to be preserved. But they were beyond beauty now. She was more than her delicate good looks. She’d been a partner to him tonight, and indeed, every night since she’d been out of bed. Sitting with him in the library, drinking brandies, reading books, talking, strolling the unfinished corridors of the house and listening to him go on about his plans.
Luce poured himself a drink. Perhaps he’d simply been alone too long and was desperate for company. He would have bought that argument except for tonight. She’d not merely been a patient listener, but a partner in truth, working alongside him. Her expertise had been invaluable. While he’d not readily admit it to anyone, especially not his brothers who would get a good laugh out of it, he’d gotten a little aroused listening to her discuss supply lines and the Greek cause. She’d been there, she’d seen it all firsthand.
That one thought chased itself around in his head as he returned to the table and outlined his findings for Grandfather. The image of her with her stiletto— dressed in trousers, sitting around a campfire with the guerrillas, her hair in a long braid like it had been today—was a strong one. What a woman she was. There was no woman in London her equal. For all the delicacy of her looks, Wren was strong, hardy, resilient and determined.
Luce dipped his pen, re-reading the presentation of his findings. He’d been sure to highlight Wren’s part in assisting. He wanted Grandfather to know how valuable she’d been and to assure him that his agent was recovering. Ideally, he would usually send such findings by private courier but with the weather that was not an option, not when weather wasn’t a concern in Greece. The Egyptian navy—allies to the Ottomans—could be moving into place at any time, unfettered by weather.Better to risk the mails than to wait. Lives and democracy depended on it.
Satisfied with the account, Luce paused, debating how to broach the next subject. He wanted to ask Grandfather about Wren. What had she been doing that far south? What had she been sent to find in Greece that the redoubtable Falcon could not? And yet, he wanted to ask for the right reasons. For the sake of business, he did not need to know. It was only to sate the hunger of his curiosity. Wren Audley had shown herself to be a revolutionary spirit tonight and a passionate one. He could still see her quicksilver eyes turning the color of dark slate with her desire, the pulse note at the base of her throat beating a rapid tattoo at his touch. And oh sweet heavens, the way she’d returned his kiss, running her tongue over his lip, letting it linger boldly with his so that he did not mistake her interest. She’d been his partner in that, too, not a timid debutante who shrank from her passion and his.
He did like a woman who knew her own mind and Wren Audley was certainly that. The best lovers were those who were equal partners in the pleasure, who asked for what they wanted, who took what they needed and understood he would do the same. Needless to say, Wren Audley with her unflinching gaze, her light touches at his arm and on his leg, would be such a woman. She would be more than that.
Luce sanded the letter and sealed it without asking his questions. He wished he could seal his thoughts as easily. It suddenly seemed superficial to classify her in a category that was purely about the physical. He knew intuitively that to be with her would require care and consideration. It would be meaningful and life-affirming if not changing. She’d risked her life and he had saved it. Together, they’d gone on to save other lives and possibly alter the course of the war. These were the invisible threads that bound them together.
He knew already she would be a woman he would not easily forget. And yet he wanted more. But to what end and for how long? Thiswouldend. Shewouldleave. He gave a bittersweet smile, reconciling reality with the echoes of his desire. Better to have paradise for a short while than to not have it at all. He would make the most of the time he had with her, starting tomorrow with a venture into the village full of hiemal delights sure to please even Wren Audley, despiser of all things wintry.
Luce chuckled to himself. For tomorrow, Wren would need to be warm. That much had been abundantly clear from their conversations. The greatcoat she’d worn on arrival had not survived the altercation on the doorstep and a shawl would not be enough for the village. A trip to the atticstonightwould be required iftomorrowwas to be a success.
Chapter Seven
Luce had the cloak waiting for her at breakfast, draped over her chair. He watched surreptitiously over the edge of his newspaper as she entered, wearing the blue wool dress she’d worn for the past several days. He saw the moment she spied the cloak, the slight widening of her quicksilver eyes, the way her hand moved to caress the heavy burgundy wool and the swans-down lining with something akin to reverence or perhaps relief.
