While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (15 page)

“No!” She felt her cheeks grow warm. Lord, no. Thank God he’d found her in this small parlor room. It was pleasant and neutral with no...inappropriate associations. “Please. Do sit down.” She gestured to an armchair across from her.

Instead, he took a seat on the cushion next to her, hand still hidden behind his back. She scooted away, but that only made him grin at her. She furrowed her brow, sniffed, and smelled something sweet and fragrant. She flicked her gaze to his face, but it revealed nothing.

“Forgive me for not inquiring earlier,” he drawled. “I trust you napped well?”

“Yes, quite well,” she lied. No need for him to know that she’d tossed and turned for two hours. The slow smile he gave her seemed to indicate he suspected just that. Arrogant man!

She scooted further into the couch’s corner, wondering how soon she could escape. When he’d entered she’d been thinking about walking to the stables to see Thunder. Her mother and her maid had wanted her to stay in bed, but she’d finally escaped them and only paused in the sitting room to rest for a moment because even the short distance from her bedchamber to the downstairs parlor had made her head ache. And on top of the blinding megrim, exhaustion from her fragmented sleep plagued her.

And now the object of her distress was frustrating her once again. Why was he still at Tanglewilde? She couldn’t begin to comprehend why he’d come last night in the first place. At the time it had seemed right for him to be there. It wasn’t until morning that she’d begun to wonder at his presence.

Now in the light of early afternoon, his continued presence was even more of a mystery. She was nothing to him, would
never
be anything to him. Men like Winterbourne didn’t give the Francesca Dashings of the world so much as a second glance. And why should they? She’d never lit up a room when she entered, didn’t delight people with her wit and charm. She was just Francesca—plain, ordinary Francesca. But he would never be just Ethan, and there was nothing plain or ordinary about him.

She chanced a look at him. They shouldn’t even be alone together, she thought. Even in broad daylight with the sounds of the household filtering into the room, sitting next to him, his body mere inches from hers, felt decadent.

His warm gaze rested heavily on her. He seemed unaffected by her discomfort or the growing silence between them. Nothing ever seemed to affect him, whereas
everything
he did had a heightened effect on her.

“Have you spoken with my father?” she asked abruptly.

“This morning.”

“Oh.” She was saved!

His eyes were still intent on her face, but now she felt more relieved than uneasy. Her father would never allow the notorious Marquess of Winterbourne to remain at Tanglewilde.

“Then I suppose you’ll be leaving soon?” She couldn’t quite keep the pleasure out of her voice. Again, she noticed he kept his hand behind his back. She sniffed and craned her neck to see what he was hiding.

“No.”

She started, but he merely smiled in response.

“No?” she said. “What do you mean?” Perhaps he’d taken her too literally and meant to say that he’d be leaving after dinner.

“I told you this morning, I’m staying.”

“My father won’t allow that,” she sputtered before she could stop herself.

“Your father has agreed wholeheartedly to my extended visit, as he calls it.”

She could only stare at him in disbelief as he gave her a look rife with self-satisfaction. He probably would have leaned back and crossed his arms in his familiar, arrogant gesture as well if one hand was not still positioned behind his back. What
was
he hiding? She wrinkled her nose. She smelled something familiar, something sweet...

“Your father has even conceded my other requests.”

His last statement snagged her attention again. “
Other
requests?”

“Several.”

She waited, but it didn’t appear as though he intended to elaborate. “Lord Winterbourne—”

He shook his head. “Ethan.”

“Pardon?” She gaped at him, and he had the gall to wink at her.

“Call me Ethan.”

She blinked, then snorted. “I hardly think such familiarity appropriate.” She squared her shoulders. “In fact, we shouldn’t even be alone together.”

“Why not? It’s accepted practice for people in our situation. Chocolate tart, Francesca?” He held out the arm he’d been hiding behind his back.

The plate he held was laden with warm, freshly baked chocolate tarts, and the smell of sweet, rich chocolate wafted over her. He handed her a small china plate from the tea service beside the couch. “Take one.”

“I—” she began, eyes feasting on the temptation. Distracted, she tried to remember what he’d said a moment before. She glanced away from the tart for an instant. “What do you mean,
people in our situation
?”

He grinned, held the plate out again. Her stomach rumbled, and her gaze slashed back to the plate. She almost reached for a tart. “I shouldn’t.” Her attention shifted to the door. “My mother—I’m not hungry.” She sat back in the chair and tried to mean it.

He picked up a tart and set it on the small plate he held before her. “I checked with the staff. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “My maid brought me a tray of tea and toast this morning.” She didn’t add,
After you left
.

“Which you didn’t touch.” He moved the plate closer. “I know these are your favorites. Take one.”

She pursed her lips, shaking her head.

“Fine.” He sat back and withdrew the plate. “I’ll send them back.”

“Wait,” she squeaked when he reached for the bell to summon the footman. Her stomach rumbled again.

His hand paused above the bell, and he gave her a sidelong glance.

“Maybe just one.” Oh, she was so very bad. But chocolate tarts. How
could
she refuse?

To his credit, Winterbourne didn’t gloat. He put another warm, fragrant tart on the small plate and handed it to her. She began to protest, but he cut her off, lifting a teacup and adding a splash of milk. “Two lumps of sugar?” he asked, pouring the steaming brew into the dainty china cup.

Her grip on the plate with the tarts faltered, and she almost dropped it. “You’re serving me
tea
?”

He didn’t answer, adding a lump of sugar. “I think three?” He arched a brow.

“Two,” she said quickly. Three—her mother would murder her. She gave the door another furtive glance and took a quick bite of the tart. When she looked back, he handed her the teacup and saucer.

“Thank you.” She took a small sip, savoring the sweetness. Then frowned at him. He’d definitely added more than two lumps of sugar.

She took another bite of the tart and closed her eyes in a blissful surrender to chocolate decadence. “These are so good,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate and moist cake. “How did you get them? Cook doesn’t bake them every day.”

“I spoke to your cook this morning. I knew you’d be hungry when you were up and about.” His voice sounded hoarse, and she opened her eyes to catch a glimpse of him. His gaze was heated amber, warming her as it flowed over her. He was staring at her mouth, and she lowered the tart, licking her lip.

She thought she heard him make a small sound. Her heart pounded in her ears, and a trickle of sweat traced a path between her breasts. He was doing it again—seducing her with only a look. And she was a willing participant, all the more eager because he was being so kind this morning—pouring her tea, feeding her chocolate delicacies.

Oh, how she wished he would leave. She, who had so little experience with men and games of love, was becoming thoroughly enamored of him—amplifying each word, each look into something meaningful, giving his every action a significance he’d never intended. He was playing a game and she was playing for real—she didn’t know any other way to play.

But surely he would be gone by dinner. She frowned. “You asked Cook about the tarts this morning?”

“Hmm,” he replied, eyes tracing the contours of her mouth so she again felt compelled to touch her tongue to her lips. He inhaled sharply, but this time his behavior didn’t distract her.

“You assumed you would be here long enough to bring them to me? That my father wouldn’t have you thrown out before dinner?”

His gaze flicked to her eyes and he gave her a roguish smile. “I told you I’m staying, Francesca.”

She pursed her lips. “Lord Winterbourne, I really cannot allow this familiarity.”

He leaned forward, and she could feel the heat from his body. She tried to scoot back again, but she was already wedged into the couch’s corner. “I must insist that you refer to me as Miss Dashing.” She was proud that, despite his closeness, her voice sounded steady.

“Even if we’re betrothed?”

“
Betrothed
?” The plate slipped from her hand and clattered on the floor. She groped for it but missed when she saw his grin.

“I knew those tarts would only distract you for a moment.”

“Distract me?” She leapt out of her chair, took three steps, and rounded on him. “What do you mean betrothed? We’re not betrothed!” She rubbed the back of her head where the newly formed knot pulsed painfully from her sudden activity. “
Are
we?”

“No.” He shook his head, and she sank into a gold chintz chair with relief. She reached for a second chocolate tart. After that scare, she needed it. “But we will tell everyone we are.”

Her hand froze above the china plate. “We’ll tell—what?”

“It’s the only way, Francesca. An engagement gives me a suitable excuse for residing at Tanglewilde in the eyes of the
ton
.”

“But you don’t need to reside here.” She sat forward. He
couldn’t
reside here. Give it two days and she’d be making a fool of herself, falling all over him, cow-eyed with infatuation.

He scowled. “I told you last night, I’m not leaving until I find the man who attacked you.”

“Why? The magistrate—”

He stood and waved a hand, cutting her off. “Damn that idiot of a magistrate.”

She tried another tactic. “But surely you’d feel more comfortable at Grayson Park, and it’s only a short ride.”

“I can’t protect you at Grayson Park.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she argued, though it certainly warmed her that he wanted to provide it. Confused her as well. “Why are you taking such an interest in me?” She gave him a pointed look. “What is your
real
objective?”

He smiled, crossed to her chair, and leaned down. Placing one hand on either side of her, he murmured, “There’s no point in arguing, Francesca.” His face loomed inches from hers, and his nearness made it hard for her to concentrate.

Something about the way he looked at her unnerved her. His eyes had changed. There was more than harmless flirtation in them now.

She tried in vain to scoot away. “But, really, there’s no need...” Her voice trailed off as he put a finger to her lips.

“There’s every need,” he murmured.

She caught her breath as his fingers traced her top lip lightly. Tingles skittered through her body, all the way to her toes. He was close enough to kiss her. And—her heart sped up—he
looked
as though he wanted to kiss her.

“I’ll be so close to you,” he whispered, “that the only time you’ll escape me is when you sleep.”

His finger rested on the center of her bottom lip. He swiped it gently across her skin, and as he pulled away, she saw a smudge of chocolate on his skin. She watched, trembling, as he put the finger in his mouth and slowly licked it clean.

“And Francesca?”

“Yes.” At least that was the word she’d meant to form. She dragged her eyes back to his, breath coming fast.

“I might even find a way into your dreams.”

It took a moment after he leaned away, returning to the couch with a smug look, for the haze surrounding her to fade and conscious thought to return. Her lips tingled where his finger had skated across them. Her whole body vibrated. Aching for...something.

Lord, the way he’d licked the chocolate off his finger—his tongue swirling around the pad of his fingertip then moving slowly upward over the tip. She hadn’t been able to move, much less breathe.

She
still
couldn’t breathe. She had to get away.

“I-I think I’ll take the fresh air,” she said when she trusted her voice again. She stood, and he was beside her.

“Where are we going?”

“We?” She turned to him and took an immediate step back. His mere presence overwhelmed her. Left her lightheaded. She had to get away from him, gather her thoughts, her defenses.

“
I
would go to the stable to see Thunder and then to check on my hospital.
Alone
, if you don’t mind.”

Not waiting for his argument, she whirled and started for the door. His hand, light but firm, on her elbow stopped her. Her pulse pattered in response. How she wished he would stop touching her!

“I thought I made myself clear a moment ago.” His voice was hard, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him glowering at her. For some reason, his fierce expression didn’t disconcert her as it usually did. She shook him off.

“You made yourself perfectly clear, Lord Winterbourne, but I prefer to be alone right now.”

“Then go to your room.” He took a step toward her. “Lie down. Read a book. Do needlepoint.” With each suggestion he leaned closer until she felt the heat of his chest pressing against her torso. She blushed but refused to step back.

“But if you mean to leave the house,” he continued, glaring down at her, “I would go with you.”

“Oh, this is too much!” She rose on her tiptoes and met him eye to eye. “I already have one puppy nipping at my heels. I don’t need another.”

“Puppy?” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

She gestured to the windows of the breakfast room and their view of the bright sunny park and rolling hillsides. “No one would attack me in the middle of the day, Lord Winterbourne.” But even as she said it, she felt a shudder of fear ripple through her. “And I’ll pass half a dozen people on my way to the stables,” she said, uncertain whether the words were intended to convince him or her.