Page 73 of Irresistible
“I’ll try. It may be that I can look through them and tell you what I see. I’ll do my best.” At Dougal’s skeptical expression, Lucien held up his hands. “You trust me, don’t you?” He was joking, but there was something to his question, because there was likely someone Dougal shouldn’t trust.
“Of course, but it does seem someone interfered in our operations. Whether I was targeted, or it was just a…coincidencethat those two missions went badly, I am inclined to think there is someone working against us.”
“Or someones,” Lucien said. “It certainly bears investigation. What if we don’t find anything?”
“Then I shall have to accept that coincidences happen.” Dougal thought of the Chesmores and how they’d looked like spies based on circumstantial evidence. What had seemed suspicious was merely eccentricity. Dougal doubted that would be the case here, not when a trusted courier had been murdered.
Dougal finished his whisky and went to set the empty tumbler atop the cabinet. “Shall we?”
Lucien stared at him with the hint of a smile. “You really don’t have anything to say about Miss Goodfellow beyond her code breaking and nearly shooting you?”
“WhatshouldI say?” What could he say that wouldn’t completely reveal the way she’d affected him?
“Will she make a good addition to the Foreign Office?”
“I would recommend her, certainly.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I like her immensely. I take it you came to like her?”
Dougal was suddenly assaulted with images of her in bed: arching beneath him with sultry moans, stroking him while her lips spread in a wicked smile, crying out his name as she came apart in his arms. Dammit. He’d done such a thorough job of banishing that from his mind.
For one bloody day. Congratulations arenotin order.
“Yes. The entire mission was very enjoyable, which is satisfying since it was the last.”
Lucien clapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling about that.”
The anguish and grief Dougal struggled to keep buried tried to surface, but he tamped it down. “It hardly signifies since my path is clear. There is no choice to be made. I am the heir, and my father needs me.”
“I know how much your father—your entire family—means to you,” Lucien said, squeezing Dougal’s biceps before dropping his hand to his side. “I’ll let you know when I have something to share about the reports.”
“Please do.” Dougal followed Lucien from the office, then made his way to the library. For the first time, he felt out of place. Not as though he didn’t belong here, but that he ought to be somewhere else. Scotland.
He passed a friend leaving the library. The gentleman inclined his head. “Fallin.”
The name still jolted him. He wasn’t Dougal MacNair, spy, anymore. Nor was he Mr. Smythe or any other role he’d played. He was the Viscount Fallin.
Wasn’t it just another role to play? Surely he could manage this just as he’d donned countless other disguises.
Only this wasn’t temporary. This was the life he would lead instead of the one he’d planned.
He kept coming back to the fact that the time he’d spent as Jess’s pretend husband was the closest he’d come to what the future would hold for him. If he could find someone like her to be his countess, perhaps this sudden change wouldn’t feel so overwhelming.
He was taken back to a week ago, to when he met the alluring Mrs. Smythe in this very room. Looking to the door, he wished she’d materialize. When she did not, he took himself to the bottle of whisky and tried to focus on the mystery of his future instead of the bliss of his recent past.
The words on the page blurred before Jess’s eyes. She gave up trying to read the page for the—she’d lost count—time and snapped the book closed. Tossing it atop the table, she leaned back in her chair and stared up at ceiling in Lady Pickering’s drawing room.
Since arriving in London three days ago, Jess had felt incredibly out of sorts. Kat had returned to her brother’s home on George Street during the mission to Dorset, which meant Jess’s primary source of companionship and entertainment was gone. They had caught up yesterday over tea and a walk around the square. Jess had told her all about how she’d spent several lovely days at Lady Pickering’s Hampshire estate. How she hated lying to her friend. And she desperately wanted someone to talk to about all that had happened.
Lady Pickering had taken Jess’s written report about the mission, but there had been no communication from anyone regarding Jess’s investigation of Dougal. She’d received her payment—a tidy sum that she very much appreciated—but no communication about Dougal whatsoever. Had they forgotten? Were they expecting her to make some sort of contact? With whom? She couldn’t ask Lady Pickering, because she apparently didn’t know anything about it. She certainly hadn’t indicated that she did. The whole thing was bloody frustrating.
In any case, what would Jess even say about Dougal? She hadn’t found any evidence of misbehavior, nor had she witnessed anything questionable. He’d acquitted himself admirably and had taught her well. How the devil was she, a novice, supposed to adequately investigate someone like him? She couldn’t even remember not to speak French in front of the Chesmores, and she’d slipped up and mentioned their return to London when they were supposed to be from Wales.
No, she wasn’t out of sorts, Jess acknowledged as she set her book aside. She was lonely and bored. While she may not have made the best spy, she had enjoyed the challenge of deciphering the Chesmores’ letters. More than that, she’d enjoyed Dougal’s tutelage and company. She’d never imagined that being someone’s wife might prove satisfying. Or even thrilling.
Her only regret was that they’d waited until the very last night to indulge in the physical aspects of a real marriage. If they’d only started that on the first night…
It would have been even harder to part from him. As it was, she missed him. She missed waking up to him in the morning, sharing breakfast, and working close together toward a common goal. She’d never done that with anyone before. Was she beginning to change her opinion about marriage as Mary had?
