The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match A Regency Rogues Novel (25 page)

He lifted away from her, the darkness hiding his expression. “What I am about to tell you …” He paused and Grace heard him inhale deeply, then exhale with equal force. “What I am about to tell you is something I have kept hidden from all for most of my life. But if it will convince you to stay, I will happily share it with you.”

“What is it, Langdon?” Grace asked, equal parts hesitant and impatient.

“I am not who I appear to be.”

Grace’s mind began to sift through different scenarios, none of which provided the answer to their problem. She squinted against the shadows in an attempt to better see his face. “And who are you? Exactly?”

“Langdon Bourne, Earl of Stonecliffe,” he replied simply, as if rattling off the name of his tailor.

“That is impossible,” Grace exclaimed as she swiped at the tears staining her cheeks. “I know that name. It belongs to one of the most honorable families in England. Why would an earl be posing as the leader of a criminal organization? It makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Which is exactly why I am the perfect man for the job,” Langdon replied as he moved to sit next to her. “As are all of the other men in service to the crown. No one would think to link the nobility to a government network of spies. We are all too busy gambling our inheritance away and ruining the young women of the ton. Or seducing desirable young widows.”

Grace pushed the blankets to her knees and sat up, turning to face Langdon. She took a moment to consider
the stunning information he’d just revealed. “But don’t you see? Your title makes our situation even more impossible. An earl and the ruined daughter of a dissolute drunk cannot be together.”

“A dissolute drunken
duke
,” Langdon corrected her, reaching out to take her hands in his. “Though a poor excuse for a man, your father was a member of the peerage. And you were not ruined, my love. Your marriage to Crowther was legal.”

A spark of hope ignited within Grace’s heart. “Legal or not, the doctor was well beneath me. I have been absent from the ton for many years, but I feel certain people’s attitudes concerning such things have not changed completely.”

“I do not give a fig what my peers think,” Langdon answered with conviction. “I am a bloody earl—and furthermore, a bloody earl with a spotless reputation. I have spent my entire life devoted to the happiness of others and service to my country. And now I am going to spend the rest of my years loving you. If you will have me, that is.”

The tiny spark of hope began to pulse with pure, white light. “What of leaving London?”

“I own homes in Kent and Devonshire. And if neither of those pleases you, I will purchase another home wherever you like. Multiple homes, if necessary.”

Langdon squeezed Grace’s hands, his long, strong fingers urging her to agree.

“It cannot be that simple,” she argued halfheartedly, hope’s light beginning to burn hot within her. “Can it?”

Langdon pulled her into his lap and released her hands. “Will you marry me, Grace?”

“But your family—”

Langdon silenced her with a kiss. “Will you marry me?”

As a girl, Grace had dreamt of the moment when the man she well and truly loved asked her to marry him. The reality was quite different from her dreams, with far more life having been lived and learned before he found her. But he had found her. Just as she was meant to be found. And that was all that mattered.

“I will.”

Grace caught a glimpse of the fierce joy that blazed in Langdon’s eyes before he covered her mouth with his. He lifted Grace, turning her in his lap. Her knees bracketed his hips, her body aligned with his, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, swept away by the passion that soared between them.

His hands swept up her back, trailing over her shoulder blades and up her spine to her nape, before cupping her breasts.

She leaned back to give him better access and his lips left hers to trail down her throat. His mouth was hot as he pressed openmouthed, tasting kisses against her skin, and she burned everywhere he touched. His arm at her back held her securely as his mouth closed over the tip of her breast and she groaned, arching, pressing her nipple against his tongue.

Even the air she took in felt hot, too heated to
breathe, and she gasped, burying her fingers in his hair to anchor her while the world spun dizzily.

Langdon muttered a curse and he buried one hand between her thighs, unerringly finding the wet heat that begged for his touch.

Grace squirmed, pressing frantically against his teasing fingers. Then they left her and she protested, trying to pull him back.

“Shh, love,” he murmured. He lifted her just far enough to position his erection against her aching center and then lowered her, surging upward and filling her.

She moaned louder and rocked forward, forcing him deeper into her. His groan joined hers as the movement seated him hard within her. With his hands at her waist, he lifted her just enough to partially retreat, then lowered her in a long smooth slide that had her clenching him, her nails scoring the skin of his shoulders.

“Langdon,” she begged, tortured, needing more. She put her arms around his neck and clasped him, pressing her breasts against his chest. His hair teased her sensitive nipples as she moved up and down his shaft.

“Grace,” he growled, grabbing her backside with both of his hands. He flipped her onto her back, his heavy weight pinning her to the mattress, and began a pounding rhythm that made her cry out with pleasure.

“Let go, my love,” Langdon urged.

“With you,” Grace panted. “Only with you.”

Langdon sunk himself into Grace’s core, his eyes wild with passion. “Now.”

And Grace let go. Her body shattered into a thousand points of white light as she climaxed.

Langdon pressed his forehead to hers and groaned loudly, his own release exploding within her.

“I love you,” he whispered over and over, reverently.

Grace pulsed with pleasure and wrapped Langdon in an embrace. “And I love you.”

Much later, after Langdon had taken Grace once more, and Grace had done the same to him, she lay in his arms, her head resting on his bare chest. She listened to his steady breathing, the strong beating of his heart against her cheek like music to her ears.

Home. Langdon was her home.

“Do you know, I think I would make quite an accomplished criminal.”

Langdon looked at Niles, the man’s face almost entirely shadowed by the dark night. “Considering a change in careers?”

The kitchen door of the Four Horsemen rattled, drawing the men’s attention.

“All I am saying is that it is never a bad idea to have options,” Niles explained.

The door slowly swung open and the Young Corinthian agent assigned to the gaming hell emerged. “Sir, the name is Rawlings,” he said to Langdon in greeting. “You will have no more than an hour before the first of the employees begin to arrive.”

Langdon looked at Niles, then swept his gaze over Cleese, the second agent he’d brought along. “Do you hear that, men?”

Both nodded in understanding.

“Good,” Langdon said. “Let’s not waste a minute of it.”

Rawlings stepped aside and Langdon gestured for Niles and Cleese to move.

“Watch the door,” he ordered Rawlings, waiting
for the other two to enter before crossing the threshold himself.

“I will,” Rawlings replied, then quietly shut the door behind them.

Langdon took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the almost entirely dark room. Slowly, the layout of the space came into focus. They were in the Four Horsemen’s kitchens, a set of stoves on the far wall and work areas to the right. A large wooden worktable stood directly in front of them.

“Cleese, light a candle and unload the supplies.”

The young agent walked to a lit sconce on the wall opposite them and produced a tallow candle. Lighting it, he returned, then bent to retrieve the large rucksack he’d brought with him.

“The gunpowder has been encased in wooden tubes, all sharing a common fuse,” he began, gently setting the sack down on the worktable. “We will start upstairs, in the northern corner of the building, then work our way counterclockwise. I will place the tubes approximately in the middle of each corner room. Then we will return to the main floor. We will prepare that floor in the same way, then return to the kitchens. Once you two have exited the building and moved a safe distance away, I will see to the wick.”

“Simple enough,” Niles commented dryly.

Cleese gave him a pointed look, then picked up the sack and moved toward the stairs.

Taking two at a time, the line of agents made quick work of the two flights and headed for the northern corner of the Four Horsemen. Cleese set the sack down on the floor and unbuttoned the flap, revealing
an intricate web of gunpowder tubes and lines that attached each one to the next. “You’ll find it tedious work, but it is absolutely essential that we stay together.”

Cleese picked up the first batch of tubes then stepped aside. Langdon saw to the sack and Niles followed behind.

“Let me place this one before anyone else touches the next unit,” Cleese instructed. He moved slowly toward the middle of the room with Langdon and Niles following closely behind.

“Like you’re cradling a baby, gentlemen,” he told the two as he knelt down and gently placed the tubes on the floor.

“Rather less dangerous than a baby,” Niles replied.

“Only you could make a joke while we risk blowing ourselves up,” Langdon commented, watching closely as Cleese saw to the unit.

Cleese stood up and chuckled at the comment. “It’s actually quite safe—as long as you do not move too quickly. Or drop anything. Or speak too loudly.”

“I feel so much better now, Cleese, thank you,” Niles replied dryly. “Come, let us see to these babies before I lose a limb.”

The three carefully covered the top floor with the black powder tubes, keeping close track of the shared fuse as they went. They moved on to the main floor and set about repeating the meticulous ritual. Returning to the kitchens, Langdon clapped Cleese on the back. “Be quick about it.”

“I always am,” the young agent assured him.

Niles opened the door and shooed Rawlings away, then followed.

“We will be across the street waiting,” Langdon told Cleese before exiting the Four Horsemen. He ran west along the building, looking both ways before crossing the street and taking up his spot behind the tobacco shop that faced the gaming hell.

Cleese appeared two minutes later, running faster than Langdon had ever seen a man move. He made it to the corner of the tobacco shop when suddenly the Four Horsemen exploded, knocking the young agent into the air.

Langdon ran to Cleese’s side, glad when the agent turned over and frowned.

“I was off by two seconds,” Cleese groused. “So much for perfect execution.”

Langdon looked across the street to where the Four Horsemen once stood. Rubble, splintered wood, shattered brick, and broken glass were all that remained of the Kingsmen’s popular business.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he told Cleese, then offered the agent his hand. “Looks pretty near perfect to me.”

Serendipity stared out the elegant French doors to where her perfectly cultivated garden grew. In her hand, a letter from the King. The man was sorry to have to tell her that the Hills Crossing gang had burned the Four Horsemen to the ground. The building was completely lost. All of the furnishings had been reduced to ashes. A supply of French wine smuggled in from Calais was gone, too, along with the rest
of the spirits. Not to mention the beef and poultry, potatoes and carrots. Even the salt, Serendipity reflected.