For Love Alone (41 page)

Why not? Why a sudden and unpredictable affinity for such men? She thought again of Simon's comment: Ives's godfather, a master spy. If Simon knew enough about Roxbury to make that statement, even in jest, then Simon had to have been dealing with men who knew about such things, such as spies.

“Tell me about Roxbury,” she said suddenly. “Simon once referred to him as a master spy. Is it true?”

She sensed the wariness in him immediately, and her certainty that she had stumbled upon some inkling of the truth grew.

“Not exactly. And it is not precisely common knowledge, although he has been called by such a title occasionally in certain circles,” Ives conceded reluctantly, not liking this sudden turn, but unwilling to lie outright.

When she continued to wait expectantly, he added unwillingly, “It is possible that there may be some truth in it—his devotion to England is legendary, and I am sure that from time to time he has delved into matters that would lead one to, er, connect him to matters of espionage.”

Sophy said nothing for a minute and just when Ives thought that they had put the dangerous subject behind them, she observed thoughtfully, “And if he needed help, oh, in say, tracking down a treacherous spy here in London, is it not possible that he would ask for your help?”

Ives forced a laugh. “I am no spy, sweetheart.”

“But if your godfather requested your help,” she persisted, “you would give it to him, wouldn't you? To catch a spy?”

If they had not been lying naked together, their bodies pressed closely to each other, Sophy might not have been aware of it when Ives stiffened slightly. But she felt it, and knew that she was on the right track.

She sat up and stared down at him. “You're working for your godfather, aren't you? That is why when anything untoward happens you immediately have a conference with Roxbury. And it is the reason that he has been coming here so frequently, isn't it?” Her eyes narrowed and she added slowly, almost to herself, “And that is why you are always running off to join Grimshaw and the others, isn't it? One of them is a spy, and Roxbury wants you to unmask him.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Ives growled, cursing her cleverness even as he admired it. “Do you really think Grimshaw, blackguard that he is, is a spy? Why should he stoop to such a level? It would be his life if he were caught. Treason is punished by execution, remember?”

Her eyes locked on his, she said musingly, “Treason wouldn't have mattered to Simon. He'd have believed that he was too careful, too smart, too clever to be caught, and he would have delighted in tweaking the nose of someone like Roxbury. Perhaps your spy is like him, a man who revels in taking risks. In dicing with danger—and, of course, there is always money. Some men are not above avarice. Some men are greedy, like Edward. I could see Edward selling secrets for such a base reason as gold. Gold has corrupted many a man—why not Grimshaw?”

“I see,” Ives said. “In addition to being the object of Edward's blackmail and the owner of the cravat pin, Grimshaw is now some sort of spy?”

Sophy's eyes widened. “That's it, isn't it?
That's
why you have been so anxious about my involvement.” An expression of pure delight crossed her vivid face. “It isn't just a murderer we are after. We are going to trap a spy, aren't we?”

“We
are certainly going to do nothing of the sort!” Ives said savagely, cursing her too-quick intelligence.

Sophy cast him a superior smile. “You can deny it all you want—in fact, I imagine Roxbury has sworn you to secrecy, but you will not convince me! It explains too many things. You, my dear, clever, conniving husband, are hunting a spy! And that is why someone like Roxbury is interested in helping me to find my uncle's murderer. You know something that somehow connects the cravat pin with the man you are pursuing and are hoping to use it to draw him out.”

Ives shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “We know of no definite connection.” And could have ripped his tongue out as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Aha!” she exclaimed delightedly, her golden eyes sparkling. “You admit that there is a spy and that you are helping Roxbury catch him!”

“Dash it all, Sophy! Cease this flummery!” Ives said with an edge, vastly annoyed with himself for not having chosen his words more wisely. “I admit nothing. Concentrate on what we are fairly confident of: Edward and Miss Weatherby were murdered because they tried to blackmail the man who
probably
lost the cravat pin.”

She stared at him for a long time, her tousled curls framing her lively features, her eyes full of speculation as they rested on his grim face. Finally, she shrugged, and said airily, “Oh, very well, keep your secrets, but you do not fool me. I know we are hunting a spy and you are working for Roxbury. You will not convince me otherwise.”

She paused again, obviously hoping he would make another imprudent statement. When he remained stubbornly silent, she dropped her eyes and from beneath her extravagant lashes peeped at him as she said slyly, “And that is why of late you have been so often in the pocket of Grimshaw and Coleman, isn't it?”

His jaw set. Ives scowled at her; but before he could answer—if he had been going to in the first place—she gave a little laugh and kissed his hard mouth.

“Never mind. I expect you will tell me all when you can.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a witch?” he growled as his arms closed around her. “An aggravating, bewitching little sorceress?”

She dimpled. “No. Do you think I am a witch?”

“I think,” he said thickly, “that you have thoroughly bewitched me and that you are utterly adorable!” And proceeded to show her just how very adorable he found her—her and her extremely responsive body.

As they came together this time there was some new element in their lovemaking. The same explosive passion was there, the same wildly exciting race to ecstasy and afterward, the same lazy, bone-melting feeling of completeness, but something was different.

Her heart still thudding madly in her breast, her body still throbbing from Ives's possession, and her lips still tingling from his urgent kisses, Sophy hazily tried to identify what had been different about this time as she floated dreamily in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Tenderness? Trust? A sense of oneness? Something.

And was she the only one who had felt it, or had Ives been aware of it, too? Was it something solely within her that responded differently to him? Or had there been something different about his lovemaking that had brought forth that feeling of uniqueness? Or was it some powerful emotion that emanated from both of them?

When she turned her head slightly to look at him, a wave of such tenderness, such love rushed over her at the sight of his dark, powerful features that the words slipped out before she had time to call them back. “I love you,” she murmured involuntarily, one hand unconsciously caressing his cheek.

Embarrassed at what she had revealed, her eyes fell and she snatched her hand away. Oh, God! How could I have said such a thing out loud! How could I have so brazenly revealed what was in my heart?

As the seconds passed, she was unbearably aware of him lying by her side, aware of little else except for the painful hammering of her heart that had nothing to do with the climax they had just shared. Wishing she could just vanish into the air, she lay stiffly by his side, wondering what he was thinking, what he was feeling. When the silence dragged on, and he said nothing, she began to hope that perhaps he had not heard her.

But that hope was short-lived when he turned suddenly and gathered her against him. In the tenderest voice imaginable, he said, “I believe that, by rights, I should have said those words first, my love.”

Her eyes flew to his, and the warm glow, the exquisite tenderness she saw there, made her feel as if she were melting in his very arms. “D-do you want to say them?” she stammered. “To m-me?”

He kissed her. “Indeed. I can think of nothing more that I want to say to you—that I have wanted to say to you.” He smiled down at her. “I love you, Sophy. I loved you almost from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Sophy stared wordlessly at him. “But you never said anything,” she almost wailed. “You never once gave me a hint!”

He laughed, lightly kissing her fingers. “I married you, didn't I?”

“But that was to save my reputation, and because you wanted an heir.
Everybody
knew that!”

He shook his head. “I don't deny that I shamelessly used the events surrounding Edward's murder to get you firmly shackled to me, but as for an heir? Well, there are any number of nubile young ladies who would have, no doubt, done the job ably. But you see, they all had one terrible, unforgivable flaw—they weren't
you!
I am afraid that only you will do for me.” He kissed her nerveless fingers.

“Oh,” Sophy said breathlessly, stars shining in her lovely eyes. “That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard.”

His mouth settled warmly on hers again as he murmured against her lips, “Oh, I am a most romantic fellow, my dear.
Most
romantic.”

It was quite some time before any reasonable conversation took place between them again, lost as they were in the golden world known only to lovers. Each moment of discovery of each other's emotions had to be marveled at and considered, followed by frequent kisses and soft sighs and sometimes, gentle laughter.

“How could you doubt me?” Ives asked sometime later. “I do not think at any time during our, er, courtship that my actions have been other than that of a man irrevocably in love. Dash it all, Sophy, I have openly dangled after you, bluntly pursued you, and even toadied up to your family.”

“Not fawned,” she said with a little gurgle of laughter, hardly able to contain the joy which consumed her.
Ives loved her!

He grinned, that wicked brigand's grin that made her heart leap. “Well, perhaps not that. But, sweetheart, you had to have known.”

Sophy shook her head. “I did not. I swear it.” Some of her happiness dimmed. “I was too afraid that you had married me for the same reason that Simon had—to gain an heir.” Her eyes met his. “And you have to admit,” she said softly, “that you have certainly been giving an excellent imitation of a man who has a fondness for the same vices.”

His lips twisted. “I love you, Sophy. Know that. And know that I would never betray our wedding vows.”

Their eyes clung and after a moment, she slowly nodded. “I do.”

“And you have no more doubts about why I married you?” he asked gently.

Arms above her head, she stretched luxuriously, smiling foolishly. “No. Oh, Ives! I am so lucky! And to think that I was so afraid that I had broken my vow to myself, that if I ever married again, it would be for love alone. Nothing else would matter. Only love.”

Bringing her arms back down to her sides, she glanced at him. Her eyes soft and glowing, she murmured, “But in the end, I did keep my vow, didn't I? We
did
marry for love alone, didn't we?”

He bent his head, his lips finding hers. Against her mouth, he said thickly, “Oh, yes. It was the only reason we married—for love alone.”

 

It wasn't to be expected that Ives and Sophy would try to conceal their love, that it could be hidden. Phoebe, Anne, and Marcus watched them covertly all through breakfast the next morning, the scents of May and orange blossoms almost palpable around the table.

It was Marcus who finally put his own thoughts, and those of the other two, into words. Setting down his cup, he said uncertainly, “Er, I take it that you have, ah, settled your differences?”

Ives beamed at him, and the look he sent Sophy, as Phoebe later told Anne in shocked accents, made her feel distinctly flushed!

“Oh, yes,” Ives said easily. “You could say that.”

Breakfast suddenly became less than ordinary, and there was much laughter and teasing, the feeling that the future was going to be wonderful infusing each one of them.

But eventually, Ives had to tear himself away. Rising to his feet, he said, “I am afraid that I must leave you all now.” His eyes met Sophy's across the table. “A word alone with you, my dear?”

Excusing herself from the others, she followed him from the room, shutting the door behind her.

Standing in front of her in the main entryway, Ives said quietly, “I have previous commitments. But perhaps this evening we shall all gather and discuss plans for the summer?”

Sophy nodded, the smile she sent almost making him dizzy with its brilliance. “I shall look forward to it.”

“And your plans for today?”

She made a face. “Nothing very exciting. I have promised the girls that we shall go to Hatchard's this morning, and this afternoon, I think I am scheduled to go driving in Hyde Park with Henry—I shall have to check.”

“Very well, I shall see you later.” He dropped a swift, hard kiss on her lips. “Be careful,” he said softly.

She smiled mistily up at him. “I will be,” she promised.

 

It was difficult for Ives to keep with his usual schedule, but he did so, although his thoughts were on Sophy and what she was doing ... and Grimshaw. He and Forrest attended a sale at Tattersall's, wandered into Manton's Shooting Gallery, and visited their tailor. By late afternoon, feeling that they had acted the part of gentlemen of leisure, they wandered to a small tavern off Bond Street, ostensibly for some refreshment.

A few minutes later, entering into the private room they had requested, they joined Roxbury at a long, sturdy oak table, where he was awaiting them. Refreshments had already been ordered. Pouring them each a tankard of dark ale, Roxbury said, “Anything out of the ordinary to report?”