Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (11 page)

Ana tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Emily pointed at Meredith first. “Just eighteen months ago, you said you could never fall in love. You had investigated many a man for various crimes and had them make advances on you, but you told me, in the most disgusted tones possible, how you could
never
care for someone who might be guilty of a crime. Yet you fell in love and married someone you once suspected of treason. And now you’re working side by side with him as he trains to be a spy. Tell me that has not changed you.”

Meredith sucked in a breath. “Of course it has changed me, but it isn’t the same—”

“And you.” Emily turned on Ana, and her friend flinched. “Six months ago, you were still wearing black for a man who died years ago. And it wasn’t only to protect yourself, hide yourself. You truly mourned him. Six months ago, you declared you would never take the field.
I
was the one who was supposed to work with Lucas Tyler. And now you’re not only married to the man, but judging from the scene I interrupted two nights ago, that marriage is happily and often consummated. I also have it on good authority that you regularly shimmy out of windows together, make wagers on who will uncover what bit of evidence first and were shot at three weeks ago at the end of the Freighton Diamond case. I don’t think I have to tell you, Ana,
you
are changed.”

Ana’s face paled, but she didn’t deny any of the charges leveled at her.

Emily continued, “Yes, I admit that being injured, nearly dying, changed me.” She hesitated for a brief moment as she recalled her shattering fear at The Blue Pony. “But you are both changed as well. And yet you are still allowed, nay,
encouraged
, to be in the field. You’ve abandoned the cases we used to do together in exchange for working with your husbands. So why do you deny me the chance to continue my duties? You are allowed fulfilling lives that are entirely separate from mine. You’ve left me alone, yet you refuse to allow me to do the one thing I have left: Work for my country.”

As the last heated words left her lips, Emily instantly wanted to recall them. She had never stated those feelings out loud before, and judging from her friends’ wide-eyed and stunned expressions, they had never guessed the dark emotions that lurked in her heart.

“We never left you alone,” Ana whispered. “We never abandoned you in exchange for our new lives.”

Emily turned away. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked furiously to stave their fall. This was not how she had expected this meeting to go.

“I will continue to investigate cases,” she said through clenched teeth as she tried to keep her chin from wobbling. “Whether you are my partners any longer or not.”

“This is about our marrying.” Meredith moved toward her. “As much as it is about our trying to protect you. Emily, I never realized you felt abandoned. Or that you felt…”

She broke off and Emily clenched a fist.

“You were not going to say
jealous
,” she whispered before she turned to meet Meredith’s gaze. “Because I am
not
jealous.”

“If you were,” Ana said softly, treading carefully around the subject, “it wouldn’t be wrong. You deserve happiness and love as much as Meredith or I do.”

Emily squeezed her eyes shut. If only it were that simple. “I am not envious of the love you have found. I am not envious that you are married while I’m still alone. I like being alone. I would not desire some man underfoot!”

When she opened her eyes, she realized she was shouting. And lying. Lying about her envy. Lying about her comfort with the empty house and empty life she lived outside of her duties to the Crown. And lying about not desiring a man. There was a man she wanted, with an ache that was devastating in its power.

Grant.

But she couldn’t have him. She couldn’t have what her sister spies had found with any man, even if she found one who truly cared for her.

“My lady.”

She spun around to find Benson standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she snapped, “What is it?”

“Lord Westfield is here, my lady.”

She froze. Grant was here, in her hallway. And at the rate she had been shouting, he had no doubt heard her humiliating declaration. She turned away from her servant and her friends, going to the window to calm herself. Not that calm was possible.

She covered her cheeks and felt the burn of a blush. Her fingers trembled and her breath came in heaving gasps. Drawing on all her training, she focused on slowing her racing heart.

When she felt like she could breathe again, she said, “Let him come.”

With hands shaking behind her back, she looked toward the door, ignoring Ana and Meredith as Grant walked into the parlor. She sucked in a breath. So much for calm.

Every time she saw him, she was stricken by his strength. By the utter command he displayed in every small movement. And also by the fact that he didn’t sacrifice grace despite his large frame and muscular physique. He was the perfect balance of power and control.

Unlike her. At the moment she felt wild and emotional and shaken. Judging from the look of concern he gave to her, he knew that. Which meant he
had
heard what she’d said. Her blush deepened and she longed to sink into the floor and never look into his eyes again.

He let his gaze move to Meredith and Ana, who stood together, still pale, still shocked by what had been said. Emily flinched at the sight of them.

She was surprised when Grant’s expression darkened a shade. With…it was anger. Blame. A protectiveness much like the kind she’d seen on Lucas’s face the night she intruded into his and Ana’s home. She had envied the protection Ana’s husband offered that night. And now Grant seemed to be expressing the same with just a pointed glare.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Lady Allington,” he said softly, his gaze moving back to her and holding, even and gentle. “Your note did say two o’clock, did it not?”

She sucked in a shaky breath and stepped forward, determined not to let humiliation overtake her manners or keep her from the course that had been set.

“I did. My friends were just departing.” She shot the women a meaningful look.

Ana sighed. “Yes. We were about to go.”

She stepped forward and took Emily’s hands. Their eyes met and Emily flinched at the pity she saw in Ana’s stare. It was the last emotion she’d ever wanted to receive from her friend. Then Ana leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

“You know I love you like my own sister.”

“I know,” Emily whispered, fighting emotion with every shuddering breath. “I know that.”

Meredith stepped up next and rested a palm on Emily’s cheek. “I didn’t intend to upset you so when I came, Em. I—I am sorry for everything and I hope by the time Tristan and I return that you’ll forgive me.”

Emily nodded as more tears stung her eyes. “Of course I will. You know I will. I could never stay angry at you, even if you do deserve it.”

Meredith smiled, but there was an edge of sadness to the expression. Then the two women nodded their good-byes to Grant and left the parlor. After they had gone, Grant reached back and pushed the door shut.

Emily knew she should protest. In her plans, it had been
she
who closed the door, surprising him with her boldness. But now she felt anything but bold. She felt…. battered. And she wanted comfort, though that was the last thing she could ask of the man standing before her. She couldn’t depend on him or anyone else. Not if she wanted him to see what a strong and powerful partnership they could make. She couldn’t be a mincing, tearful woman if she wanted his acceptance.

“Emily,” he said softly and took a step toward her.

She jumped at the gentle tone. It froze her in her spot and all she could do was watch helplessly as he made his way across the room with slow steps. Like she was a frightened rabbit he feared would run from him.

It wasn’t a bad assessment. She wanted to bolt. Hide so he wouldn’t see her vulnerability.

Instead, she stood her ground as she watched his hand reach out. He wasn’t wearing gloves, so his warm fingers brushed her cheek. She let out her breath in a ragged sigh.

“You are upset.”

His tone was even. A comment, not a question. But it was unbelievably gentle. Soothing. Like it
was
his place to comfort her when it was most decidedly not.

She shook her head, causing his fingers to move against her cheekbone. The pleasure of that touch was almost unbearable.

“It was…just a disagreement,” she lied. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“And yet I find myself concerned, regardless.”

Her eyes widened as he gently pulled his fingers away.

“Thank you, Grant,” she whispered, her voice trembling like her hands and knees.

Their eyes locked and Emily shivered. There was so much to this man that was utterly terrifying. That he could be so strong, and yet so tender. That he could be frustrating and draw her in with the same breath. With him, she felt…unbalanced. Unsure of herself.

And more alive than she had in months.

She turned away to pace to the fire. Resting one shaking hand on the mantel, she tried to regain some small shred of dignity and control. She needed all she could muster before she admitted the truth and changed the relationship between them irrevocably.

Behind her, she felt Grant move as much as heard it. He took a step toward her and she tensed in anticipation of his touch. It was coming, she was certain of it.

“You know, Emily, I must tell you, I do not know what to think of you.”

His voice was right behind her, just a bit closer and she would feel his breath against the back of her neck. His fingers curled around her forearm and she moved to face him at his gentle urging. She couldn’t resist.

His expression was almost unreadable as he continued, “You are, by all appearances, the perfect lady, yet there is something more lurking beneath the veneer you show the world.”

She fought to keep surprise from her face. Could he really see all that in the short time they had been chasing each other all over London?

He continued, “It is something so utterly intriguing and yet so alarming, because I am never sure what you will do. How far would you go, Emily? How close to the line would you tread…or would you jump right over it and throw all caution to the wind even if it would bring you grief? I don’t know the answers and it fascinates me, terrifies me.”

Emily swallowed. He was leaning closer with every word, that luscious mouth coming down toward hers in a slow descent designed so she could resist if she wanted to.

But she didn’t want to. She wanted his kiss. She needed to know he desired her…
Emily
, as much as he had desired the stranger she portrayed two nights prior. Before she admitted the truth, she had to know.

His lips brushed hers, a featherlight contact and she felt the unbridled passion he’d exhibited previously just pulsing beneath the surface. He was reigning in control, but the desire was there, just as powerful as it had been that first night. Relief flooded her as she interlocked her fingers behind his head and surrendered.

G
rant’s arms came around Emily as an explosion of powerful desire rocked him off center. But as that first jolt faded, it was followed by something else.

The same sense of familiarity he’d felt when he smelled Emily’s scent on his coat the night before. But now he had identified its source. This kiss…it was the same as the kiss of the woman from The Blue Pony.

He yanked his head back with surprise and stared down into Emily’s eyes. They were clouded with desire so potent it took every ounce of control he possessed not to simply melt back into her and forget the thoughts that buzzed in his head.

No, he had to focus. The kiss…the kiss was the same. And her eyes…hadn’t the other woman had eyes like Emily’s? It had been hard to tell with that wild red hair tangled around her face. And she’d always turned her gaze away so he never fully looked at her. She’d used darkness as a protective cloak.

But the kiss, that was definite. Wasn’t it?

Perhaps he should test it a second time. He cupped Emily’s chin and tilted her face, then brought his mouth down. Her lips parted and he took what she offered, tasting her. God, she was so sweet. Like…like strawberries.

That thought ricocheted like a bullet even as Emily continued to kiss him with utter abandon. Strawberries. It
was
the same.

Grant knew he should pull away again, but he couldn’t manage it. Their tongues melded as Emily tugged him closer, clinging to him like he was a lifeline. He could taste her desperation, her need, and it drove him on.

Her fingers sifted through his hair as the kiss deepened even further. His rational mind repeated the refrain in the back of his mind, though.

The same woman! The same woman!

He wanted to silence the voice and lose himself in the feel of Emily pressed so close to him, her hips moving slightly against his own and setting him on fire.

But he couldn’t. It was too persistent. How could he prove that Emily and the other woman were indeed the same person? Because he had to be absolutely certain before he made that claim or he’d risk losing Emily forever. Which he couldn’t do. Not when she was hot beneath his hands, moaning and gasping with every touch.

The scar.

As his fingers glided down Emily’s spine, stroking her back and pulling her even tighter against him, he remembered the large scar he’d found on the other woman’s side. If Emily had a mark like that, it would prove beyond any doubt that the two women were the same.

And if not…well, he was going to make love to her. That was a fact now. If there was no scar marring her skin, he would do that and think about the consequences later. Right now the wanting was the most important thing. The desire and the drive to claim this woman in a primal way. A way neither of them would ever forget.

He pulled away from her desperate kiss and locked eyes with her. A little whimper, so low he might have missed it had he not been so focused on her, escaped her lips and she arched into him.

“I want—” he began, but before he could finish, she caught his hand and lifted it, covering her breast.

Grant shut his eyes as his breath hissed from his lungs. She knew what he wanted, what burned inside of him like a fire ready to explode out of control. And she was giving him permission to take it.
Asking
him to touch her. That was a gift he had no intention of refusing.

He massaged her breast, loving how the ridge of her nipple hardened beneath his palm and her breaths caught on little moans. He stepped forward, guiding her away from the fireplace and laid her back against the velvet settee in the middle of the room. Covering her, he reveled in the arch of her body beneath his. The feel of her fingers as she massaged his back and pulled him ever closer.

He kissed her again, savoring her taste, the desperate mating of their tongues. And then he moved his mouth lower, sucking on the elegant slope of her throat, gliding his tongue up to tease the delicate shell of her ear.

Her response was wild and, he hoped, honest. Her hips lifted to meet his, grinding until his erection ached with readiness to explode. She clutched at him, urging him further with every gasping breath, with every whispered, “Yes.”

His fingers found the pearl buttons on the front of her gown and one by one he set them loose, his heart rate increasing with each. God, he wanted to touch her. Taste her. Fill her.

Claim her.

He caught his ragged breath and managed to pull back far enough to peel the layers of satin away from her shoulders. The dress bunched at her waist and Grant simply stared. Her chemise was a fine, light silk. It clung to her curves, outlined her hard nipples. He couldn’t help but reach forward and cup her breasts a second time, strumming his thumbs against the peaks as Emily’s head lolled back against her shoulders.

“Grant,” she hissed out.

His eyes came up. Damn it, once again she reminded him of his suspicions. That voice, that needy, pleading tone was like the other woman’s when she found release. His cock throbbed at the memory of her welcoming body. And it was made all the worse by the notion that Emily was indeed her. Emily, who could surprise him more than any woman he’d met for years.

Emily, who he wanted so badly that he could taste the heady spice of desire on his tongue. He pulled her against his chest and molded his mouth to her, taking without finesse, pressing her against him in an attempt to merge her into him. Keep her close.

His fingers found her chemise straps and he drew them down, past her shoulders, past her breasts, until the silk joined her gown and she was bared from the waist up. He found her breasts again with his palms, cupping her.

Emily’s moan was so low, so primal and fierce that he nearly lost his senses. He dipped his head and suckled one pink nipple, drawing it into the heated cavern of his mouth until she covered her lips with the back of her hand to keep her moans from growing too loud.

He continued the torment with the opposite breast, sucking, swirling his tongue around the responsive bead, tasting her until he would never forget the flavor. His hands glided down her smooth stomach. He hooked his thumbs into the tangled mass of her gown, intent on pushing away the final barrier between them.

As he moved his fingers to shove the fabric past her hips, he felt something. Rough skin that had been mangled and left to heal.

He felt her scar.

The world stopped. His ears began to ring. His vision briefly blurred.

He wasn’t sure whether to be happy he’d found the woman who haunted him, happy he could now explain why he felt such a connection to her, yet thought of Emily every time he relived the powerful night they shared, or to give in to anger and confusion. That night they made love, he hadn’t been in any kind of disguise. That meant Emily had known full well that it was
him
she took to her bed.

So why hadn’t she revealed herself? Why had she let things go so far, surrendered her body to him so sweetly, and then snuck away into the night, his watch in tow?

His watch.

He lifted his gaze and met her stare. Her eyes were wide as they locked with his. For the first time since the night they met in his mother’s ballroom, she couldn’t manage to conceal her reactions and emotions. Desire was etched across her face, but also fear and guilt. Her expression confirmed his worst suspicions even more than the discovery of her scar.

“Grant,” she mouthed silently.

“Emily,” he growled, catching her forearms in a sudden sweep and pushing her far down into the settee cushions. He held her body still with the weight of his own as he looked into eyes so bright and blue they almost hurt to look at. “Where the hell is my watch?”

Emily struggled, but the only good it did her was to rasp her sensitive nipples against the rough fabric of Grant’s coat and raise her arousal all the higher. Her cloudy mind wanted to stay in its sensual haze, but it could no longer have that dream.

Her secret was out…or at least part of it. And it had been revealed in the very worst way she could have imagined. The only way she hadn’t accounted for.

Because she certainly hadn’t intended to end up on her back beneath Grant’s hard, hot body, practically begging him to take her.

“Grant,” she said, forcing herself to meet his pointed stare. She owed him that even though she wanted to flinch away from the anger and betrayal reflected in his dark eyes. “I can explain.”

His weight bore down on her, pushing her even deeper into the cushions and keeping her from moving an inch. She shoved against him, but to no avail. He was just too strong. Panic rose in her chest. She didn’t like being trapped.

“Please,” she said softly.

His eyes narrowed. “How the hell can you explain, Emily? How the bloody hell do you think you could
ever
explain what you’ve done?”

She swallowed. “You may not believe me, and I can hardly blame you for that, but I had every intention of telling you the truth this afternoon. Of revealing what you have clearly already surmised—that
I
am the woman you rescued from The Blue Pony a few nights ago. I applaud you for your skills. You’ve shown me what a good spy you really are.”

He froze, his face draining of all emotion in an attempt to cover what she knew had to be a mixture of surprise and horror. A spy who lost his anonymity was utterly vulnerable.

“Spy?” he repeated, his rough voice full of haughty amusement.

“The watch gave you away,” she said softly. “It was a gift to the very best men in the War Department. That was when I knew what you were and that was why I took it. To prove my suspicions.” She pushed against his hands again. “Grant, let me up. I have nowhere to run now that you know the truth.”

He arched a brow as he gave her an appraising look. One that was devoid of all the powerful heat that normally accompanied his stares. She shut her eyes briefly, mourning the loss of that desire. Craving it. She certainly still felt every bit of longing toward him that she had before he found her scar and put the pieces of her identity together. In fact, her body punished her far worse than he could ever imagine with aching, throbbing need.

“I’ll let you up,” he said softly. “But make a move toward the door and I’ll have you on the ground before you can call for help, do you understand?”

She nodded and he pulled back, getting to his feet and stepping away. He moved to the door without ever turning his back on her and slipped the lock into place. Struggling to a seated position, Emily pulled the straps of her chemise back over her shoulders, followed by her gown, all the while trying not to let disappointment get the better of her.

She deserved every bit of anger Grant had turned on her. And his mistrust was only what she would expect from a good spy who had uncovered a series of lies from someone he thought he knew. But understanding did not mean those things didn’t sting terribly.

“You might find it harder to put me on the floor than you think,” she said as she fastened her buttons over her still-flushed breasts.

He folded his arms with an expression of disbelief. “And why is that?”

Emily sucked in a long breath. Here was the moment to reveal her secret, but she struggled to form the words to the speech she had rehearsed over and over. Telling him required trust and that was a commodity she lacked. But if she wanted his help, she had no choice.

“Because I’m a spy, too, Grant. How do you think I know about the significance of your watch? Why do you think I was able to fool you with my disguise that night? Why do you think a man like Cullen Leary chased me?” She shivered, utterly vulnerable now. “If you look past your anger, think about all the things you know about me, all the things you’ve uncovered, you’ll know what I say is true.”

He didn’t register a response, so she wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. In fact, he said nothing. Emily shifted uncomfortably as she tried to get her tangled locks back into a less messy state. But she kept her eyes on him while she did it, and allowed her emotions to reflect in her expression. She didn’t normally permit that, but she had to with Grant. She had to show him she wasn’t lying.

“I know you were assigned to protect me, Grant.”

He drew in a sharp breath and moved one step toward her. She tried to ignore the way her heart raced with hope and…yes, she could admit it to herself…desire. Please, let him believe.

“Let us assume you are correct,” he finally said, smoothing his wrinkled clothing. “That I’m a spy as you have concluded. And let us also assume that you are one, as you claim. Then tell me why the hell I would have been assigned to follow you? Are you turning against the government, Emily? Are you selling secrets to our enemies?”

She was on her feet instantly. Her hands shook and the blood drained from her face at the charge.

“How dare you? Of course I’m not betraying my country. I love my country, that is why I do what I do.” She sucked in a breath and managed to calm her shaking voice. “You were assigned to protect me for the same reason I was assigned to protect you. To keep us from any real cases because we’ve each been branded incapable of work in the field.”

At that, Grant flinched.

Emily eased toward him, but didn’t reach for him, even though her palms itched to touch him. To smooth the lines of pain away from his mouth. To kiss him and beg him not to hate her. To renew the desire he once exhibited when he looked at her.

“I don’t know why you’ve been labeled thus,” she continued. “Because everything I’ve seen from you, aside from the unnecessary attack on Leary that night in the hells, has shown you to be a very good spy. Well worthy of the watch.”

His gaze lifted. “Is that why you hid in the shadows at the ball last night?”

Her shoulders relaxed. He was beginning to believe.

“Yes. I thought to observe you, see what kind of search you’d make for me. I needed to know what kind of spy you were, Grant, before I revealed myself. But I never thought you would catch a glimpse of me. Not when I was so careful in my hiding place. The fact that you uncovered me was why I called you here today. I intended to tell you everything, but then we—”